


Aftermath

by Katuary



Series: Thunder and Lightning: Marian Hawke & Anders [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Background Relationships, Blue-Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), F/M, Healing, Implied Sexual Content, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Mage Rebellion (Dragon Age), Major Character Injury, Moving forward together, Mutual Recovery, On the Run, Post-Dragon Age II, Rebellion, Relationship Healing, Sided with Mages, TAGS CONTAIN PLOT SPOILERS PAST THIS POINT, Tags Contain Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships, Unplanned Pregnancy, Warrior Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katuary/pseuds/Katuary
Summary: The events in the wake of the Kirkwall Chantry explosion."You gave in. You stopped asking questions. You knew better. Coward."





	1. Epicenter

Marian Hawke only remembered slivers of the hours immediately following the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry. She lost time, mechanically helping the others cut and burn their way to the docks. She only spoke to direct the fight. Bodies, screams, debris all faded to the background. Her mind just...buzzed.

Dull hums that had rippled through the ground, strong enough for her to feel without being a mage herself.

_All those people._

Not just those responsible for abuse. Not even just the Chantry. Shrapnel and stone from the explosion had ripped through _all_ of Kirkwall. It was some kind of cosmic joke that she'd taken only a cut above her eye, close as she'd been to the blast. She'd tied a strip of fabric around it to keep the blood from obscuring her vision and moved on. 

_You gave in. You stopped asking questions. You _knew better._ Coward._

Bethany's hand touched hers, and Hawke startled. They were on a boat. A caravel. When had they boarded a boat?

"Mer?"

Her own name sounded foreign. How long had it been since someone had called her something other than their family name? She supposed her sister was the only other Hawke alive at this point. Made sense she was still "Marian" to Bethany. 

"Are you..." Bethany trailed off and shook her head. She shifted and gripped her sister's hand securely. Hawke gave a brief squeeze in return, still staring at the red-tinged and smoke-clogged horizon. She clenched her jaw and let a long breath of air out through her nose. A million thoughts chased through her head, but she knew she couldn't burden Beth with them. She settled for an easier question, 

"Where...where's Anders?" She hardly recognized the sound of her own voice. She wasn't sure she'd said a word to anyone since saying her goodbyes at the Gallows. Her voice felt dry and cracked. Hoarse and worn. What was it she'd told him last? _Then we'll be fugitives together._ Bethany frowned. 

"Still with Merrill below deck, I think. She took a nasty burn from that demon in Lowtown, remember?"

"I...oh. Right." Another long pause. 

"You should probably have him take a look at that cut. It's bled through."

"It's fine." Hawke raised a hand to her brow, wincing as she pressed the makeshift bandage to her forehead. "Head wounds bleed a lot. I'll change the dressing myself."

"Marian..."

"I _said_ it's fine." Her voice was sharper than she'd intended and she felt a pang of regret. There was a short silence before her sister spoke again.

"Mer...you know you can talk to me, right? And don't start with the protective big sister excuse. We're not children anymore." Certainly not. Beth could more than take care of herself, not that she should have to. She'd already failed her at least twice. Failing to bring her to the Deep Roads excursion got her trapped in the Kirkwall Circle. Failing to stop Anders had made her an apostate once again. Thanks to her, her sister would never be able to stop running. 

She'd never tell Beth all she was thinking, but she could give her something. Her little sister was a grown woman now, and a formidable mage. She wasn't a scared little girl in pigtail braids, shyly demonstrating a new spell their father had taught her. Marian nodded shortly and lowered her voice,

"It's...I got luckier than I deserve. Just getting this. So many others weren't."

"That doesn't mean you don't deserve healing."

Marian shook her head and pushed back from the railing. She'd been gripping it so hard, the gauntlets on her hands had left jagged marks. 

"I need to..." She gestured vaguely behind them and shrugged. "I'll be back." Bethany rested a hand on her shoulder before she could leave.

"Marian, you did everything you could. You know that, right?"

Hawke chuckled humorlessly and shook her head. 

"Do I?"

She turned to find the way below deck. She couldn't put this conversation off any longer.

* * *

The ship they'd boarded was nearly identical to the one that had carried the Hawke family away from Ferelden seven years earlier. It seemed every time Hawke went to the sea, she buried someone else.

Always running, always losing.

The vessel's small size emphasized just how few of the Kirkwall Circle had escaped with them. Perhaps a couple dozen at best. None of the children, none of the apprentices...the most vulnerable to the templars and possession. Even Orsino had succumbed to blood magic in the end, driven mad by seemingly insurmountable odds. Too many people lost. Some had certainly deserved death. Most were strangers to her, caught in the crossfire. One person was so conspicuously missing that guilt pounded behind Hawke's eyes like an open wound. _You die or I die. Either way, the story's done._ If she'd been smarter, measured her words better, allowed herself to be killed instead...

_Focus._ She took a deep breath at the top of the stairs leading to the ship's hold, the only place she wouldn't be easily seen. She needed to stay calm. Reasonable. Composed. _You're stalling._ Shaking her head, she relaxed her clenched hands and descended. 

Most of the surviving mages were down in the hold, leaning against each other or the rough walls. The air smelled strongly of elfroot and lyrium; very few of their group had escaped uninjured. Despite how long she'd lived in Kirkwall, Hawke recognized very few faces.

Aveline and Donnic stood in a corner, heads bent together in low argument, but hands tightly clasping one another's. They'd doubtless return to Kirkwall to restore order once the mages left. Aveline could always argue that she'd been protecting citizens against mages and templars alike. Despite all his faults, Hawke knew Knight-Captain Cullen was a reasonable sort. Besides, he'd defended them against Meredith in the end. Even allowed them to leave the city once they'd defeated the insane Knight-Commander. With the extent of the damage to the city, he could use all the help he could get.

Merrill slept on a bedroll near the stairs, a thick poultice covering half her face. From what that rage demon had done to her, the damage beneath the ragged coverlet was guaranteed to be far worse. Varric knelt awkwardly by her side, though he lifted his head and offered a tight smile when he saw Hawke. Another home lost to him, this time because of her. He'd always been honest with her, brought up concerns even when she didn't want to hear them, and she'd brushed all those warnings off. Varric wasn't the type to hold grudges, but she was a fool if she didn't accept things had fundamentally changed between them. 

Anders...Anders was in his element here, kneeling at a patient's bedside and knitting a man's shoulder back together with his magic. He was acting nothing like the man who'd taken hundreds of lives hours before with a few taps of his staff. Her _father's_ staff. Giving that to him had been her way of showing without words that he was part of her family. Now, she wanted nothing more than to seize and snap the weapon in half.

Part of her didn't care whose fault it was, whose plan, whose manipulation. There was no longer a simple rubric to figure out who Hawke was talking to. Years ago, it had been a simple mental checklist, and one rarely needed. Golden brown eyes meant Anders, blue meant Justice. That was if the voice change and lightning cracks in his skin weren't indicator enough, anyway.

Tone helped sometimes, as things had become increasingly complicated in recent months. She was sure they'd both called her "love." She was equally sure it meant something different to each of them. Looking into his eyes was still the most reliable marker. There were times they went...flat. Emotionless. Completely unlike the warm and laughing gaze she'd woken up to nearly every morning the past three years.

Perhaps she was being foolish. Perhaps Justice and Anders were joined more than physically by now. Perhaps it didn't matter. Not to her.

"Anders."

She'd reached him without realizing it, spoken to him from a million miles away. She'd expected him to tense, even though it was impossible for her to sneak up on anyone in full armor. Instead, he relaxed at the sound of her voice, turning toward her with something like his usual easy smile. The warmth in his eyes dimmed the moment he saw the resignation on her face. Just a flicker. Enough that Hawke noticed. She couldn't back down now.

"There wasn’t time to talk before. Not enough.”

“No. There wasn’t.” He inclined his head and stood. “After you.”

* * *

Hawke knew she could have claimed the captain’s quarters, but it was better to stay out of the way for this. Below decks, nearer the waterline where the waves stood a chance of muffling anything they had to say. Buying a moment, she removed her gauntlets and stiffly flexed her fingers. She was fleetingly grateful they weren't shaking. Her greatsword next, leaned carefully against a corner. She didn't know how to start, but Anders spoke first.

"I'm sorry you had to be involved in this, Hawke."

She tensed immediately and fixed him with a glare. It took her a physical effort not to simply scream wordlessly in his face. 

"Don't you _dare_ apologize for _that_," she growled, "Apologize for lying to me. For blackmailing me. Apologize for giving the people _more_ fuel to fear mages after all we've worked for."

"You _saw_ Meredith," he insisted, hands clenching into fists at his sides, "She was going to annul the Circle no matter what I did!"

"Oh, you knew that before setting explosives in the Chantry, did you? When did you plan on letting me in on _that_ trivial bit of information?"

"I didn't want to involve--"

"_I've been involved!_" She hated the angry tears pricking the backs of her eyes. She'd promised herself she'd be calmer than this. She took a breath, biting back the urge to continue screaming her words, and continued at a low hiss, "From the very first, I've been _involved._ Did you forget Bethany? My father? In case you haven't noticed, I've been _involved_ since _birth_, Anders! Have I _once_ missed an opportunity to help the apostates here?" 

She laughed flatly, "You're so damned determined to play the martyr, you push away _everyone trying to help you._" 

**"This is no game!"** There he was. Hawke's face chilled to a cold rage.

"Back off, Justice," she said icily, betraying none of her fear, "Anders and I are talking. I'm _not_ talking to you."

**"There is no Justice any longer. No Anders. We are one."**

"I don't believe that," she retorted, meeting his eyes squarely, "You wouldn't bother hiding at all if that were true, would you?"

So much for not talking to him. Her head pulsed, like an iron band squeezed around her forehead. She slumped back against the door and ground her thumb and forefinger into her temples. 

"This is getting us nowhere," she murmured. She shook her head and looked up again. Justice, Anders, whoever he was, hadn't moved from his spot. "I meant what I said in the Gallows. We're running together. If there's a March, we'll lead it away from the others."

The blue cracks flared. **"There is still work to be done."**

"I'm aware."

**"This is no time to run."**

"Unless you think you can take on an Exalted March, the entire Templar Order, and Starkhaven's army on your own? Yes, it is. For now." She sank to the floor, her plate mail seeming to weigh double what it had that morning. Her eyes fixed on a deep scratch in her chest plate. A token from Meredith or Orsino...she couldn’t remember which. “Let him rest, would you? I doubt tomorrow will be any easier than today.” The blue glow dimmed in her peripheral vision, and she relaxed a fraction. 

"Hawke?" Anders' voice again. She wasn't sure exactly when he'd knelt down before her. "I didn't...are you alright?" A new blue light, not from Justice. She impatiently pushed his hand away from her face. 

"Nothing happened. Justice didn't do anything."

"You're still hurt, love."

"Anders..." She blocked his hand from reaching her forehead again, this time linking her fingers between his. "Please just leave it."

His fingers tensed in hers, as if he might try to pull away again. A sweep of her thumb over the back of his hand stilled him. He returned the gesture with a fierce squeeze before dropping his head to her shoulder.

”I’m sorry--“

”Don’t.” What was it worth when he kept apologizing for the wrong thing? Hawke sighed and closed her eyes, “If I have to hear any more regrets about trusting me, I’ll...” She rested her cheek against his hair. It had come loose at some point. He smelled like the smoke that blanketed Kirkwall, thick with crackling and chaotic energy. Like a fire during a hurricane. Not like himself. She swallowed hard, blinking back tears she refused to shed. She didn’t deserve self pity when she still had her life.

They stayed like that a long time, nearly motionless and entirely speechless. Hawke finally moved, leaning her head heavily against the door. 

"We should get some rest while we can," she said finally. Anders sat back to look at her. His face was his own, but uncharacteristically serious.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No. Don't." Her answer was immediate. She recalled a similar conversation years ago, the morning after they’d first spent the night together. 

_Don't ever leave._

_Do you mean that? Would you have me here, living with you? Would you tell the world, the Knight-Commander, that you love an apostate and you will stand beside him?_

_I want you right here. Until the day we die._

Until the day they died. She wasn't about to abandon him now. 

She staggered to her feet, stiff with exhaustion. She knew better than to sleep with her armor on. Her fingers fumbled at the fastenings for her chest plate, gritting her teeth until the expensive silverite crashed to the floor with a resounding bang. She was never normally this careless, but today the heavy armor felt more like a cage than protection. She stooped down to remove her greaves, but Anders was there first. Kneeling in front of her, he caught her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm before working at the buckles himself. It was an old routine. Hawke could remove her armor alone, but it was much easier when someone else took care of the harder to reach bits. He'd done this for her ever since he moved to the estate. Even the nights when he'd stay up far too late drafting his manifesto, when she'd finally insist on _carrying_ him to bed to force him to rest.

Anders bunched his coat on the floor for a shared pillow since they had no bedroll. She didn't resist when he pulled her close for the night, legs tangled and foreheads pressed together despite her stinging cut. She needed to feel his heart beat against her shoulder, hear his breath relax and slow, as though being reassured he lived and being assured he wasn't lost to her were the same thing.

"Hawke?"

"Hm?" She'd thought he'd already fallen asleep, still as he was. Hawke opened her eyes, unsure what to expect. 

"I don't regret trusting you," he insisted. His hand toyed with the short hair at the nape of her neck. "I regret taking the life you _could_ have had."

She shook her head and pulled him closer. "I _chose_ this life," she reminded him fiercely, "I chose _you_. Don't forget that."

"You could still walk away from this. Live a normal--"

"No. This is _my _choice. You don't get to take that away from me. Not again." She worked her jaw and glared. "We're doing this. Going on the run together. You need to _promise_ to be honest with me from now on. For both our sakes." 

"Hawke..."

"_Promise _me_._"

Neither of them so much as blinked until Anders nodded.

"I promise."

Hawke didn't believe him. Not yet. But this was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I only played DA2 through once so far since it ripped my heart out of my chest. And I screwed up EVERYTHING there is to screw up. I think I wound up with half my party dead or abandoning me because I picked the wrong dialogue options. Sorry, Hawke. This is my only playthrough, so you must suffer.
> 
> For all the canon pairings I have over all three games, Anders x Hawke is the most complicated. I firmly believe their relationship is not healthy during DA2, particularly in Act 3. I was glad there were dialogue options to call Anders out on some of the manipulative things he did (honestly, that scene should be a fic in and of itself). That being said, I believe they had room to grow and heal if given the chance. Hopefully that's how this series comes across.
> 
> Side note, never give Anders Malcom's staff before the final mission. Serious conversation/yelling/explosions happening, then every closeup it's just GOLDEN BOOBS.


	2. Aftershocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally replayed DA2 (game crashes every half hour and all) and made better life choices? Act 3 is a lot easier on the heartache when you know everything that’s coming. 
> 
> Anders. Honey. You’re a really shitty liar and JUST TALK TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND ALREADY. SWEET MAKER. Guarantee she’d come up with a better plan, too. Like something less likely to immediately destroy half the city.

_"Whatever you do, just do it."_

_It was cruel to ask her to decide his fate. He _had _to know that. Whatever of him remained had to know that. He trusted her with _this _of all things, but had kept the Chantry plot a secret. _

_Still, she held back her heartbreak and panic, if only for the next few moments. Justice, true justice and not a corrupted shadow of a spirit, needed to be rendered here. A muscle jumped in her jaw as she restrained her expression. She swallowed hard before speaking to Anders' turned back,_

_"You have to pay for what you've done."_

_"I know."_

_He sounded relieved. How _dare _he feel relief when he forced her to choose between him and a chance to deescalate the fighting in the city? He continued, still refusing to turn and look at her. _

_"For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you. It was nice to be happy...for a while."_

_Those last words stole anything she had left. She felt nothing but numb. She knew what must be done next. _

_She felt outside her own control, unable to make a choice any longer, but she was all too physically present in the moment. Her hand moved without need of instruction. She still felt the resistance of the knife, _her _knife, in the heart of the man she still loved despite everything._

* * *

Hawke woke with a muffled cry, disoriented to find herself on the ground with Anders' still form in front of her. He lay on his side, back turned, and her fists clutched the back of his undershirt like a vice. She pried one hand loose and ghosted it over the left side of his back. _No wound. No knife. A heartbeat. It didn't happen._

The image of his lifeless body, dead by her hand, still burned into her eyelids if she allowed them to shut. She swallowed back a swell of nausea and tried to slow her breathing. _Maker_, it felt like her heart would explode. Carefully, trying not to wake him, she slipped her arm over Anders to lay her palm against his chest. Her hand pressed harder, clutching him to her and counting steady heartbeats as she shook. It was easier now that she was fully awake and had something constant to focus on. In time, the panic faded fractionally, leaving her with a bone-deep ache like a bad flu.

Back in the chantry's courtyard, only Merrill had wanted to spare him. Everyone else either insisted he die or refused to be involved. They had nearly unanimously left the choice to her though. All except Fenris. Perhaps he'd considered it a kindness, trying to take the decision from her hands once everything was over. Once, in his mind, Anders had outlived any usefulness. 

The sound of his knife being unsheathed had been her only warning. She’d nearly been too late to block the strike that scraped harmlessly off her armored shoulder.

_”You know what must be done.”_

_"This isn't your choice to make, Fenris. Stand down."_

_"It shouldn't be yours, either."_

If she hadn't still been on her guard, if she hadn't been able to match his strength blow for blow, if she'd been less willing to hurt a friend to protect who she loved...

Her defense was instinct when he attacked a second time. Feral. A snap in her careful control after the endless days leading there had worn her to the bone.

She'd aimed to incapacitate. They'd had to leave him behind. Hawke wasn’t one for praying. She could only hope she hadn't killed him. 

Anders shifting in her hold distracted her from her thoughts. His hand came up to cover hers, squeezing briefly before resting in place. He was likely still asleep. He always checked if she was still next to him in the night, consciously or not. 

A _full year_ in solitary confinement. And here Kinloch Hold was supposed to be one of the more liberal-minded Circles. If she ever met First Enchanter Irving, Hawke would give him more than a piece of her mind. 

Just one example of what they were fighting against.

"You're with me," she whispered, tucking her chin over his shoulder. Her voice was hoarse, but the words were the same she'd used every night since he'd told her about his confinement. "It's alright."

She wouldn’t let them take him. That was a promise.

"Hawke?"

_Shit._

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to wake you." She could practically feel his frown, despite not seeing his face. 

"You shouldn't be awake either. What's wrong?"

_Oh, nothing. Just an incredibly vivid nightmare about that time you wanted me to kill you as a martyr for the mage rebellion. Was that only yesterday? Oh my, I must have already forgotten. How are you?_ Hawke shook her head.

"Bad dream." The less said the better. She allowed herself another moment to lie there, counting breaths, before she released a sigh into the crook of his neck. "We need to leave. Tonight. In case anyone tries to follow..." Pursuers from Kirkwall catching up to them, or one of their own number insisting on coming along. Either way, she refused to risk it. This part wasn't their fight. She unraveled her arms from Anders and sat up. They'd need to pack. Rations. Less conspicuous weapons and clothes. She stretched and reached for her discarded possessions, digging through everything impatiently until she found a few scraps of parchment and a stub of charcoal. _Perfect._ She strode to the porthole, where a band of moonlight provided just enough light to start writing. 

"I take it by 'tonight' you mean..."

"Now. Yes." 

* * *

Hawke felt guilty taking the ship's only rowboat, but it was necessary. The only way to leave while they were still moving away from Kirkwall. She wouldn't jeopardize their small head start just so they could reach shore. _East. We went east. Ostwick is closest. We can try to get a message to the Circle there, use the momentum we have. Send them back to join the surviving Kirkwall mages. Not much, but--_

"I suppose I should have known you never intended to let him stand trial."

Hawke stiffened, then turned to face the Guard-Captain with a tight smile. "_What_ trial, Aveline? Do you think they wouldn't just kill him on sight? Or make him _Tranquil?_" The last word left her like a curse, leaving the sharp tang of bile in her mouth. 

"With Meredith gone, there's a better chance."

"And you know I'm not about to risk it." She tossed the wrapped bundle into the rowboat with an air of finality. 

"Hawke." Aveline shook her head, though she still made no move to stop her escape preparations. "You said it yourself. This goes beyond mages and templars. He _murdered_ people."

"Yes. He knows that. I know that." There was no reason to argue on that point. She turned back to her friend. "Did you know Meredith had already sent for the Right of Annulment? Before today?"

"I...no."

"I didn't either. Anders did."

"Then he could have told me. Or at least you."

Hawke huffed once in frustration, "Preaching to the choir, Aveline. For what it's..." _No. _ She swallowed and rephrased, "If it means anything, whatever we do from now on will be both of our decisions. He's promised."

Aveline nodded at the creaking rowboat and raised an eyebrow. "He's promised a lot of things." She crossed her arms. "Wait a minute, this doesn't mean...you agree with what he did?" A long silence passed, and Aveline's frown and voice both sharpened. "Your silence isn't reassuring, Hawke."

"I..." Hawke hesitated, "I...don't know if there was another way to help the mages in the Circle. I've been trying to think, and maybe if I'd had more time, or known more of what was going _on_, I could have planned, but...we didn't have any way to sneak mages out. Not anymore. They _all_ would have been killed. At least some survive this way."

"At the cost of how many other people, Hawke? Tell me, what's a fair exchange of mage to non-mage lives?"

"I..."There was no response to that. Nothing adequate. Aveline rested a hand on Hawke's shoulder, stilling her faltering. 

"Hawke, I _know_ you mean well. You always do. Anders..." Her mouth thinned, "...he probably thought he was doing the right thing, too. But that's not enough. You always get so _fixated_ on the situation at hand, and you never back away to see the consequences before you act."

Hawke squeezed her friend's hand and smiled dimly, "I'll have to do better. I will. _We_ will." By the look on Aveline's face, she only believed a fraction of that. She pulled back and resumed her preparations. Aveline sighed behind her.

"You're leaving now then."

"You're not going to try and stop me?"

"I can't imagine that would end well." Hawke winced, but didn't respond, let alone argue. Aveline continued, "You were leaving without saying goodbye?" 

"I..." She pulled the sheaf of paper from the waist of her breeches. "Not exactly." She turned and handed the notes over. Her mouth twisted when Aveline took them. "Just...do me a favor and don't read yours in front of me. Those aren't the prettiest-worded things. You know I'm no good at--"

"I won't, Hawke."

"Right." She picked at a splinter on the thick rope securing the rowboat. The seconds stretched into minutes before she found something to say. "You're going back to Kirkwall then?"

"Yes. As soon as we find a place to let the mages off safely. The city needs help to recover." Again, she wasn't wrong. Hawke nodded.

"Would you check on Orana? She won't be safe in the city alone. And Bodahn should know Sandal is safe. And Gamlen...he should at least know Bethany and I made it out alive."

"Hawke." Her voice was gentler than it had been all evening. "You know you don't have to do this. You don't have to go with him."

"It's not about _having_ to, it's...it's just what you do to protect who you love."

"What about Bethany?"

"You think she won't be safer without the extra target on her back? I've made no secret of wanting this rebellion. I guarantee I'm the second person on their search list." A smile ghosted across her face. “Besides, I’m leaving Maric with her. He knows to keep her safe.” The old family mabari had been ecstatic to reunite with Bethany. Hawke had the feeling he’d agree with guard duty.

Aveline didn’t crack a smile. “If you’re sure. I...suppose this is goodbye, then?”

Hawke nodded. “I’ll write if I can. I just...” She abruptly threw her arms around the her friend, “...thank you. For everything.”

Aveline usually wasn’t one for dramatic physical affection, but she returned the embrace fiercely.

”Be careful, Hawke.”

* * *

No one else interrupted their escape. Even Aveline had chosen to return inside rather than confront Anders again. Hawke rowed them to the shore in silence. 

The following morning, they set out for Ostwick. It was as good a plan as any, and would only take a week to reach on foot. 

By the time they grew close, the curls of smoke on the horizon showed they were already too late.

* * *

They came upon a group of wary mages camped in the foothills of the Vimmark Mountains. Most were young, only children. Only one seemed old enough to have passed her Harrowing, a woman near Bethany's age with fierce blue eyes and short-cropped hair the color of dark honey. The minute Hawke and Anders turned toward them, the woman shifted into a clumsy defensive stance, ice blue frost orbiting the top of her simple staff in warning. This one was clearly unused to fighting. 

"I don't want to hurt you," she called, teeth gritting together, "I'm _not_ an abomination, but I _will_ defend my own." One of the younger boys behind her tugged at her singed and torn Circle robes. 

"They're not templars, Evie," he said softly, pointing, "Look, he's got a staff. And no Tranquil brand."

He said it so practically. He couldn't have been more than eight. Hawke's stomach turned, but Anders brightened,

"Your Circle rebelled?"

A short laugh and an incredulous stare from the younger woman. "Rebelled? Oh no. We were _annulled_." 

It was a punch in the gut for both of them. The Ostwick mage's nose twitched and she lowered her staff.

"You haven't heard then?" she asked, "About Kirkwall? Knight-Commander Meredith?"

Hawke shook her head and chose her words carefully, "No, we've...we've heard."

"You should turn back then. Or north. I don't know. _Away_ is best. I..." She frowned, eyes flicking from Hawke to Anders. "...what's wrong with your friend?"

Hawke turned to Anders and paled. Not quite Justice. Not yet. The smell of ozone and tendrils of smoke were clear indicators that could soon change. She rested a hand on his arm. 

"Not here. That won't help them." She didn't dare use his name. How much had the Ostwick mage heard about Kirkwall? When Hawke looked back at her, the younger woman's eyes were sharp, taking in the situation. She didn't drop her guard, but she didn't raise her weapon again either. When she spoke, she had lowered and slowed her voice,

"I don't know what's going on here, but I think you should go. Templars won't be far behind us."

Diplomatic. Cautious. This was how Bethany was taught to act around _templars._ Hawke wondered if Anders was too far gone to notice. At least no one had mentioned anything about demons this time. Hawke nodded. 

"I understand," she said, "We're headed different ways anyway. Please be safe." The Ostwick mage gave her an odd look,

"We'll...try." 

The mage left then, trail of small apprentices in tow. They stood no chance of escaping, not truly. A grown mage alone? That was a possibility, if a remote one. A group of mage children? Hawke's hands clenched into trembling fists at her sides as she watched the rapidly retreating group.

"This is our fault," she murmured. Her jaw clenched and sent a spasm of pain through her ears. "We're finding those templars."

"What?" The voice that answered her was dazed and fell somewhere between Anders and Justice. So Anders had maintained control. Barely. 

"The templars," she repeated, burning eyes locking on the innocuous-seeming Circle tower just visible in the distance, "They'll have their phylacteries. They're expecting to find frightened children. They won't expect us."

Anders nodded, hints of blue sparking behind his eyes. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...with the "Blue Wraith" stuff, I'm guessing *someone* is getting the Leliana treatment. Phew! I tried to make Fenris' fate more ambiguous here to match both the new comic and me making better dialogue choices in The Last Straw this round.
> 
> P.S: Yes, my Hawke named her mabari after the king. She liked being able to say things like “mother, Maric peed on the carpet again.” 
> 
> P.P.S: Say hi to the future Inquisitor, everybody. Her take on all this is in [chapter 1 of "Involuntary Apostates"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968116/chapters/52421533)


	3. Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for heavy angst, full speed ahead.

When her family first had Maric, Hawke and Carver spent endless hours tracking down the proper paints and templates to give the mabari a kaddis. It had been something to do while their father trained Bethany. Less stressful for the new mage if her siblings weren't in range of her practice spells.

The stripe that ended up on her nose from their first attempt was a joke. She'd mostly kept refreshing it to piss Carver off. Something stupid about the hound being her _smarter_ brother. She was thirteen and thought she was hilarious. 

She kept it out of habit for years, as a good luck charm. When she reached Kirkwall and heard stuck-up Marchers calling the Fereldan refugees dogs, she wore the mark to make her heritage even clearer. Call her a dog, fine. Mabari were among the most feared warriors in Thedas, after all.

The first full day she'd gone without it was the day she and Anders left the escaped Kirkwall mages to strike out on their own.

Hawke wished she still had the paint for her kaddis. She _wanted _the Ostwick templars to recognize her. 

It took less than a day to find the first patrol, a group of four examining the corpses of two of their fellows. Two dead templars, four live ones, and a too-symmetric scorch mark that could only be the work of a demon. One of the mages who had escaped had been desperate enough to give in. Hawke's fists clenched hard around the hilt of her borrowed sword. She felt the answering crackle of energy from Justice beside her and grit her teeth. Better to have the spirit at her side than no one at all. She didn't bother looking at him to signal the charge. She'd fought at Anders' side countless times; Justice would know what to do.

She charged forward with a wordless cry and laughed when one of the templars attempted to drain her. Whatever the rumors from Kirkwall, she was no mage. She channeled her anger into a brutal swing that cleanly beheaded her first attacker. 

Turning, she tried the same strike against the next man to challenge her. He was quicker. The templar veered backward and Hawke's sword stuck in his chest plate. The Hawke key would have made quick work of the metal and split the man in two. _Curse subtlety, I should have kept that damned sword!_

Her lips curled in a snarl as she yanked hard to dislodge her weapon. The templar grimaced and raised his own blade, but froze as his skin ignited with violet lightning. The shock traveled up Hawke's arms and nearly ruined her grip, but she managed to free her sword with a frustrated growl. If she hadn't already been aware, that alone would have told her who was in control of Anders at the moment; he was never so unrefined when fully himself. She ignored the urge to glare at Justice and went for the templar's head again. This time, she didn't miss. She whirled to face the other half of the group, only to see them already cooked in their armor by a stream of fire. She shook her head and sheathed her weapon, scowling at the carnage around them. 

"_That_ was harder than it should have been," she snapped, toeing the nearest templar onto his back. "Try aiming for the templars next time, would you?" 

Anders didn't respond. She turned to see him still enveloped in Justice’s cold glow and rummaging through another templar's robes. Hawke pressed her lips together and joined him. Quicker with two pairs of hands. She shouldn't bother speaking to Justice more than absolutely necessary anyway. 

"A-ha!" She removed a parcel from one of the...less fresh corpses. Unwrapping it carefully, she found five vials inside.

_So these are phylacteries._ She had never seen any before, let alone held one. Each vial was corked and sealed with wax, filled with unnaturally new-looking blood, and inscribed with a unique rune instead of a mage's name. The ink on four of the bottles was substantially newer than the last. Most of them glowed brightly, but one remained dull...one of the newest additions.

Older mages captured as apostates were not generally allowed to undertake the Harrowing; Bethany had only received an exception since she'd surrendered herself. She likely still would have been killed immediately if she hadn't chosen Cullen for her confession. No...the dead phylactery had likely belonged to a child.

Justice was at her shoulder, practically burning a hole in the glass vials with his glare. As they watched the bottles in her palm, another faded and died. Hawke clenched her teeth and shoved the parcel at Justice. 

"How do we destroy them?" she demanded. Nearly before she'd finished speaking, he took the bottles and flung them to the ground like venomous snakes. They shattered, but he added a fireball for good measure. Hawke nodded shortly and kicked the ashes. "Good."

Five leashes snapped, two of which belonged to dead mages. She swallowed hard. This was a mere drop in the ocean.

**"This isn't enough."**

Hawke nodded. "I know. But it's something."

**"There are more at the Ostwick tower."**

She shook her head, glaring at the ground rather than meeting his eyes. "It won't do any good. If the mages there are already dead--"

**"Others may have escaped,"** Justice interrupted, **"And there will be more. Phylacteries from Harrowed mages in other Circles. The templars move them."**

"You realize we can't take on an _entire tower _on our own, I hope?"

A horn in the distance cut off her argument. She clenched her jaw and drew her weapon. 

A full squadron of a dozen templars directly from Ostwick thundering toward them, two on horseback. She supposed she should consider herself lucky they hadn't had room for mounted patrols in Kirkwall.

Hawke charged forward only to be cut off by a wall of fire. A good move to panic the horses, if Justice had bothered to _warn her._

She snarled and spun for the left edge of the flames, knowing the group was more concentrated there. Rounding the corner, she scythed through the first line of templars. At least one crashed into the fire, screaming. 

A spell aimed over her shoulder set her hair on end. Recognizing the curse, she whirled on its target to cut his legs from underneath him before bolting away. The unlucky templar exploded in a cloud of viscera behind her, taking two of his fellows with him and littering the ground with sizzling blood. 

_Four down_. She leapt to the nearest cluster, chopping the greatsword down to scatter three templars and give herself room to maneuver. 

"_It's them!" _The shout came from the remaining mounted templar. He pulled one of his injured comrades up beside him. The unit's commander. "The Champion and the Kirkwall mage!"

"Fall back for reinforcements!" the commander ordered, clutching her side, "_Now!"_

The pair weren't close enough to stop, and rode for the tower at a gallop. Hawke dodged a bash from an opponent's shield and growled. They meant to distract them until more help arrived. They had to finish this quickly. 

She raised her weapon to strike, but was interrupted by the white-hot bite of a blade through her left shoulder.

The smell of seared flesh filled her nostrils and she realized her mistake; she’d left an enemy behind her.

She fell to her knees with a scream of pain, trying to simultaneously twist away from the blow and guard her neck from her original target.

** “You will  _ not  _ have her!” **

A wave of crackling energy lit the sky, outshining even the hungry fire below it. The templar at Hawke’s back wrenched his weapon free, but was too late to stop the storm targeting the remnants of his company. A blue tinge washed over Hawke’s vision just before the lightning storm erupted.

A cacophony of screams, the smell of electricity and singed skin, then blessed silence.

The barrier faded as Anders approached. No...still Justice. He was covered in so much blood, she couldn’t tell how much was his own. Before she could ask, he extended a hand and sent a wave of healing magic through them both.

The flow of blood from her wound slowed to a trickle, but hadn't knit together properly. Better than nothing, or at least better than bleeding out, but worse than useless in another fight. Until she had Anders again, she could do nothing but run. 

Justice was already leaving, but in the wrong direction. Toward Ostwick.

"Where...where are you _going?" _

**"The phylacteries must be destroyed."**

Hawke stilled, searching his face for any hint of Anders. She laughed incredulously, still clutching her shoulder.

"I can't fight like this!"

His expression didn't change. **"Then leave us."**

He tried to walk around her and she shoved him hard with her good arm. It still resonated through her torn muscle and stole her breath. "Don't you _dare,_" she growled, "You think we're in any shape to take on an entire _tower of templars?"_ She laughed again. "Or more! You heard them! Those two weren't just heading back to the tower. They're looking for _reinforcements._ How many are stationed in a tower? How many templars and guardsmen do you think they can gather once they know _we're _here?"

**"They will prioritize following us over you. Leave."**

"I'm not going anywhere." She sank her teeth into her tongue, fueling her growing rage. The last several days, he had practically made a contest out of making her the angriest she'd ever been. As always, that changed nothing. 

"Fugitives _together,_" she reminded him through clenched teeth, "You know _damned well_ if you march into that tower, I'll be beside you."

A flicker, maybe even of hesitation, behind his eyes gave her brief hope before he crushed it again, **"Then we're wasting time."**

"Wasting _time?"_ She cut off his escape once more as he tried to push past. There was only so long she could hold him off before Justice grew frustrated enough to overpower her. Much as it pained her, she needed to recognize who was in control. She had to appeal to Justice, not Anders, before it was too late.

"You're throwing away _everything _if you do this!" she shouted, "Are you so determined to die a martyr that you'll allow this rebellion to end before it begins?" She held her breath in the pause that followed. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Every moment they stayed was another lost chance to escape. 

**"What would you have us do?"**

Her shoulders sagged with relief, drawing pained tears to the corners of her eyes. "We _both_ leave," she told him, "Run. Live to fight another day. We can save more lives if we go _now._"

A short nod from the spirit before the cracks in his skin sealed. Anders slumped against Hawke and she stumbled, but managed to catch him before he fell. She let out a shuddering sigh and took a step back to allow him to right himself. His eyes fixed on the crusted blood at her shoulder and unnatural angle of her arm with dawning horror.

"We need to go," she reminded him. 

"I..."

"No time for that. We need to get back to the mountains. Hide."

Normally, she would have asked him how much he remembered of Justice's actions. It was all she could do to allow him an arm around her waist for support as they finally fled. 

* * *

That night found them in a damp cave, camped far enough from the entrance that their light should go unnoticed by passing patrols. Anders had warded the cave mouth, but it wouldn't pass close examination. They would have to alternate standing watch until the morning, then keep moving. 

Hawke's teeth sank into a leather band as Anders carefully picked debris from her shoulder. He had helped her remove her armor down to the undershirt she wore, though that would need to be replaced. Torn and absolutely soaked through with blood. Mostly her own. The chest plate itself was dented from the blow, driving shards of metal into the wound and rendering the piece next to worthless. Having a smith nearby was something she'd taken for granted in Kirkwall. 

She felt dizzy. 

Neither of them had said a word since fleeing Ostwick, and she was disinclined to break that streak. 

She bit clean through the leather when Anders pressed her shoulder back together, but still said nothing. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice rough, "Almost done."

"Mhm." She spit the useless leather on the floor, grinding her teeth instead. The blue glow of healing magic supplemented the green wisps hovering near their heads. Her flesh knit back together and the searing pain numbed. She rolled her shoulder experimentally and winced. 

"It will take time to fully heal."

Hawke only grunted in response, rolling her arm in the other direction to shake his hand off. She shuffled on her knees to the opposite side of the cave, digging through her pack for an elfroot potion. Finding it, she sat back, uncorked the bottle, and took a healthy swallow. She shivered as the potion hit her empty stomach, closed her eyes and leaned against the cave wall. Better. Hopefully, that would get her back in commission sooner.

"_Please _say something."

Her eyes cracked open briefly. "You could try 'then leave us' on for size if you like. I particularly enjoyed that one." _A welcome change from requests to kill you, though. That's progress, right?_ There was little enough room that she felt him freeze. 

"He doesn't speak for me."

"Great," she said flatly, "Let him know that, will you?" She took another pull from the bottle, wincing at the bitter taste. "It's going to be difficult to get anything done if you're constantly leaping at the opportunity to die, you know. Distracting."

"Hawke..."

"Whatever happened to making choices _together?_" she snapped, "Or does that only apply when Justice allows it?" He was quiet so long, she looked up to see if he was still there. She shrugged pointedly, raising her eyebrows for a response. 

"I know," he said finally, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Hawke shook her head and set the bottle on the ground. "No, stop _saying_ you're sorry. _Do better._ You know neither of us will survive otherwise." She reached across the gap to grasp his hands, still slick with her blood. "Together. Remember?"

He returned the squeeze and smiled faintly. "Together."

"Good." She leaned forward to kiss him lightly before turning away. "I'll take the first watch. We'll have to leave at first light."

* * *

They settled into a pattern over the following weeks. Hide at night. Travel during the day when they didn't need magical light. Avoid large clusters of templars or soldiers, but take down smaller groups in hopes of finding more phylacteries. No such luck of course, but with Hawke's incomplete armor, they had to choose conservative targets.

Between avoiding patrols, fighting, and needing to gather food along the way, they barely made it out of the Vimmarks in six weeks. Insult to injury, the soldiers' heraldry transitioned to blood-red and black as they traveled; they'd exited the mountains on the Starkhaven side. _Fantastic. _She should have known allowing Sebastian to leave the chantry courtyard was a bad idea.

At least Anders knew which plants were poisonous. All those years escaping and hiding from the Circle came in handy, since Hawke had only been a teenager when her family stopped running for good. They weren't eating well, but could survive without approaching villages for resources. Even so, Hawke found the belt cinching her tunic uncomfortably tight. Much more, and she'd need to carve new notches. Two loosened since Kirkwall, when only the opposite made sense. Unless...

That wasn't possible. 

No, not just impossible. _Literally unheard of. _Wardens couldn't have children after they joined. It was a ridiculous scandal in Ferelden that their King and Queen hadn't so much as conceived in six years. If royalty with all the resources in a kingdom, who were _trying _to find a way around Warden infertility, couldn't manage it, then it certainly wasn't possible for her. 

But _they_ weren't both Wardens. And _they_ hadn't been particularly careful. Why bother when they were exclusive and Anders couldn't conceive?

She closed her eyes briefly and slowed that thought. What month was it? When had they left Kirkwall? Cloudreach. It was warm again, and they'd traveled for weeks. At least Bloomingtide. Perhaps Justinian. Two months?

She remembered bleeding a few weeks before the Chantry explosion. Lighter and shorter than usual, which she'd been grateful for given how much was on her plate. Nothing since. At least eight weeks. She'd _never_ been that late. 

She worked her jaw and shook her head. Anders would be able to find out if she asked. She was frankly shocked he hadn't picked up on any signs, but he and Justice were fixated on the rebellion nearly to the exclusion of all else...even when they could do little but evade their pursuers and wait for news. 

"We should set up camp," she said abruptly, rolling her sore shoulders, "We'll lose the light soon anyway."

"Right."

He'd hardly spoken since the night after Ostwick. If she was going to figure this out, plan, she needed his help. He was already seated on a half-rotten log, digging through his pack. She sat abruptly next to him, offering a weak smile. 

"Anders, I think--"

A short whistling noise, and her breath left her in an instant. Blood spilled from her lips in a cough. She collapsed to the dirt with a halo of burning pain consuming her chest and knew nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly heads up that all my DA series are in the same universe unless I note otherwise.
> 
> Well, this was a bitch to write (although I gotta say, tags are 200x easier when one character speaks exclusively in bold font).
> 
> Old fanfic cliffhanger habits die hard (no pun intended). Also sort of playing fast and loose with Grey Warden biology here, but who in this fandom doesn't? I say, if it's possible for Morrigan to have a normal non-OGB baby with the Warden, then this totally works.
> 
> Oh, and if anyone has suggestions for how to tag spoilers for a fic without ruining it for people reading from the beginning, I’m all ears. Still getting used to the formatting on this site!
> 
> Wish me luck...I have a new perspective to write for the next chapter.


	4. Desperation

“_No!_ Don’t be dead! _Please!“_

He barely caught her before she crumpled entirely to the dirt, arrow still lodged in her back.

_ **We’re not alone.** _

Anders was unable to focus on the immediate danger. The cause of the mages would not die with him.

Justice forcibly took control, laying Hawke on her side before turning to face their attackers. He channeled Anders’ grief along with his own anger, and their veins coursed with power they hadn't fully used in nearly six years.

The clearing ignited.

Trees exploded into blades of shattered bark. Undergrowth burst into electric blue flame. The very earth shook potently enough to bring any man around them to his knees.

A dozen archers scattered like leaves at the force, bodies burning to ash as they fell.

The flames sputtered abruptly. A concentrated force clawed on their shared mind, desperately struggling for control. Justice pushed back. 

**"There will be more."**

The force redoubled; Anders didn't care. He wasn't thinking clearly. Justice would need to be more convincing, or risk losing everything. 

**"The templars will come to investigate. We must be ready. We cannot--** _no!"_

Anders' knees buckled, but he didn't fall. He had no time to feel relief. He barred Justice as far from dominance as possible. In that moment, he was certain he would have banished him to the farthest reaches of the Fade without hesitation. If only he knew how.

_Hawke._

He staggered to his feet only to kneel beside her.

A jagged circle of untouched greenery and soil marked the place they had left her; Justice had possessed enough presence of mind to protect her from them, thank the Maker. Anders pressed shaking fingers to her pulse and nearly collapsed with relief.

_She's alive._

Only just. The arrow lodged between two ribs on the right side of her back and hadn't penetrated her chest. Just a touch higher, and it would have hit her shoulder blade. She never had such luck; it had pierced her lung.

His words from years ago mocked him; promises to drown them both in blood to keep her safe.

No. She _needed_ him. He could afford to think of nothing else.

**They will come. We would be ambushed.**

"_Quiet._"

It didn't matter. If he lost her, he would welcome death. Anders shoved Justice back again, the effort not unlike maintaining a localized magical barrier in his own mind, and stilled his trembling hands.

She _needed him._ Nothing else mattered.

He took her knife from his belt and cut away the section of soiled undershirt around the wound. He couldn't heal her without removing the arrow. He couldn't do that without a grip on the arrowhead; it could separate from the shaft and cause further damage.

Weak as she was, he didn't dare cast a sleep spell on her. He could only hope she remained unconscious for what must come next.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him. Wasting no further time, he pressed the knife to her wound and widened the opening.

That she didn't react at all was a thousand times worse than a scream. 

He cut just enough to allow space for his fingers to reach the barbs at the base of the arrowhead. Gripping hard enough for the iron to bite into his own skin, he carefully eased it out with his right hand while saturating her wound with healing magic with his left. _Draw the blood from her lung. Repair the lung itself. Heal the joint injury of the entry point and incision._ She'd lost so much blood already...there was nothing he could do to replace that. The best he could hope for was to stem the bleeding. 

The only mark left once he'd finished was a raw scar, but that belied the damage still inside. There was nothing he could do for a collapsed lung but wait for it to expand on its own. Perhaps it was possible with blood magic. Maker help him, he would try in a heartbeat if he had the knowledge.

Had she been conscious, Hawke would have gently reminded him to be grateful she still had _one_ fully functioning lung. Likely going on to ask him if the scar made her look dangerous. He grimaced and finished bandaging the area.

She'd say all that when she woke. _When_ she woke. 

He removed his coat and tucked it securely around her. She needed time to rest, but they couldn't risk staying here any longer. Justice was right in one point; the destruction in the clearing would not go unnoticed for long. He tucked one arm beneath her back and the other under the bend of her legs and tried to stand. He scarcely made it to his feet before sinking back to his knees. The healing and struggle against Justice had nearly drained him. 

_ **We must leave.** _

Anders snarled, tears of frustration nearly choking him. "We are _not leaving her."_

_ **We will not.** _

Anders scarcely had time to process the spirit's agreement before the pressure against his hasty barrier grew insistent. He resisted out of habit, but could never match Justice's energy for long. Yet, he knew there was nothing more he could do for Hawke. He wasn't strong enough. Not alone. 

"_Help_ her." He was begging. He didn't care. 

_ **You have my word.** _

Anders relinquished control and Justice stood easily, Hawke gathered in their arms and both packs slung over their back. 

Their cause would not die here. 

* * *

They returned to the mountains by sundown. It was far enough from the disastrous clearing to be outside the templars' likely search radius. They had hidden there long enough to know several havens their pursuers did not. Furthermore, they would be a beacon in the dark if they continued traveling with Justice in control. Simple to track. It was time to rest.

Their goal was an abnormally shaped cave they'd used weeks before. From the outside, there was only a narrow crevasse scarcely the width for a grown human to shuffle along sideways. Inside, it opened to a large hollow with ample room for the pair of them to lie down comfortably. A brief pulse of magic determined it was still, mercifully, abandoned. 

Hawke had drifted in and out of consciousness during their journey, but it would be near impossible to get her inside unless she walked. 

_Let me._

Justice knelt to rest Hawke on the stones before the entrance, then ceded control. The immediate crush of exhaustion nearly overwhelmed Anders. How many miles had they carried her? Walking that distance, even unburdened, would have taken a toll. He never had been as strong as her. _In any sense of the word._

It didn't matter. Mere feet further, and she would be as safe as he could manage.

He brushed sweat-damp hair from her forehead with careful fingers bathed in the soft glow of his healing magic. She was burning with fever, and her heart raced unnaturally even with the arrow wound healed. Anders was so exhausted he swore he heard a faint echo of her pounding pulse, beating twice the pace of the original. He shook his head and clasped her close to his chest.

"Hawke," he murmured hoarsely, "I need--_you_ need to wake up."

She shivered and swallowed hard. Her eyes cracked open, just enough to see the impossibly bright blue rimmed red with pain, but she only muttered wordlessly. Getting her to walk was hopeless. He shifted the coat covering her, gently guiding her arms into the sleeves. Her incoherent mumbled protests and weak shivers tore at him. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, knotting the belt carefully over her stomach, "I know..." He guided one of her arms around his shoulders and looped one of his about her waist. She clutched at the fabric of his shirt with an uncharacteristically weak grip. He covered her grasping hand with his free one. "Just a little further," he reassured her.

Her head lolled against him with a grunt of protest as he stood on quaking legs. Inch by inch, he guided them through the narrow passage. The rough walls peeled skin from his knuckles as he tried to hold her upright; his gut clenched with the dull thud of flesh on stone every time he failed. 

Muscles locking from the effort, he emerged on the other side and lay her on the floor. After casting wards on the entrance, he collapsed beside her. He'd recovered a small fraction of his mana, and he spent the rest on Hawke: healing the small scrapes from the tunnel wall, easing her shivering with carefully warmed hands, soothing the growing swelling on her back as best he could. 

Temporarily safe. He drew her to him, face to face, and traced a hesitant finger around the curve of her lips. 

Maker, he missed her seeing her smile.

He remembered her grin after defeating the Arishok alone, then her collapse to the floor. Even with a puncture the size of a fist from the qunari's spear, she was awake and laughing the entire time he healed her. 

_"You shouldn't have done that."_

_"Hey, I won, right?"_

The look on her face when she concentrated, brows drawn together and tongue just poking from between her teeth as she scowled. 

The late nights keeping him company in the study. Sprinkling sand on finished pages of his manifesto to dry the ink. Copying them in her unhurried hand so they had a backup. Giving him a chiding smile and joining him in his chair when he pushed himself too hard.

_"I'm calling bedtime, Anders. You wrote the same sentence twice. Again."_

_"Almost done with this page."_

_"Last one then. Don't make me carry you."_

The way she threw her head back when she laughed. 

The softest, tired half smile when she came home for the day.

_"You can't take care of everyone, love."_

_"Well, I can try, can't I?"_

There had been so little of that life in the last year. She hadn't smiled, not truly, since the beginning of the lies about his plans for the chantry. Another hit, and one she'd taken with grim resignation. Grief and guilt chipped away at her until he struck the killing blow himself. 

She hadn't been surprised when he destroyed the chantry. He remembered her face shattering by degrees as she saw him arrive in the courtyard, as she watched the crimson blast blot out the sky, as he explicitly put his life in her hands. 

They...no. _He_ had destroyed her. She had given him everything, and _he _broke her in return. Not just her heart as he'd warned, but the glow of life that made her _Hawke_.

And yet she stayed. No matter where he dragged them. She asked so little in return.

Fugitives together. Do better.

“Anders?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand to no one’s surprise, she’s back. This will sort of wind up being a two-parter since the last thing this chapter needed was another perspective.
> 
> I had to add the in-game line for Hawke dying at the beginning. That delivery absolutely kills me every time I hear it.
> 
> Oh my GOD did I fall down a rabbit hole looking up treatments for arrow wounds. And then collapsed lungs. And then lung infections. <s>And realistic resting and fetal heartrates.</s> So everything here has some high-level basis in actual medicine. Speaking of...good thing magic exists in this universe. Holy shit. Hawke would be super screwed otherwise. I'm also working off the assumption that magical healing is more for injuries and outward symptoms than infections and disease and such. Seems to be the primary use (both in games and from what I remember in the books) and makes it less of an easy "fix it" button every time something goes wrong. Plus I imagine JusticeSplosion takes a good deal of energy...less available to put into healing.
> 
> This is a _weird_ perspective to write. It feels like breaking the third person limited “head hopping” rule, but...it’s still one head? Technically? The way I see it, Anders in control = singular perspective, Justice = plural. If either of them are specifically controlling an action = singular. Body doing something? Plural. Not as cut and dried as I’d like, and I'm sure I flubbed that up somewhere, but it’s...A Style at least.
> 
> I don’t know, if I think about it too hard, MY head might explode. On to the next!
> 
> PS: Have definitely concluded I need to write something at least moderately fluffy in between each chapter of this fic. I can only stay in the angsty writing headspace for so long before I get itchy!


	5. Redirection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of miscarriage and abortion 
> 
> If you ever want a more detailed warning, please feel free to message me. Everyone has different limits and I respect that.
> 
> By the same token, if you find anything in any of my fics that you believe should have a content warning and doesn’t, please let me know so I can put one up.

Hawke couldn't keep her eyes open.

Every time she blinked, something new was happening. Like a dream where she hadn't paid close enough attention. 

Blink. Forest path. Painfully bright sunlight filtered through pale green leaves. 

Blink. Dusk-dark sky and familiar crackles of blue. 

Blink. Near-complete darkness. 

Through it all, the only constant was the searing burn in her chest. No matter how she tried, she couldn't catch her breath. She'd never been this winded. _What happened?_

Her eyes peeled open again. They didn't need to adjust to the dark long before she noticed Anders. They lay on the floor of a familiar cave and he was...drained. Deep purple circles under his closed eyes, sweat dripping unheeded down his face, and a racing heart she was close enough to hear. She reached for him with the hand that had supported her head, but froze. 

Her skin was tinged _blue_. 

She dropped her shaking hand and bit her tongue hard to stay awake. Her throat was nearly too dry to swallow so she could speak.

"Anders?" she rasped.

His eyes opened, a dull shadow of familiar warm amber. At least there was no sign of Justice, as far as she could see, but...her thoughts trailed off as he half smiled and drew shaking, feather-light lines down her cheek with his fingertips. For a heartbeat, it was another simple morning back in their Kirkwall bed. He nearly always woke before her, but never rose until she did. The way he looked at her when she opened her eyes each morning, that look of near-disbelief and quiet contentment, reminded her she had at least one thing right in her life.

Of course, that stopped with his secret plotting with Justice. 

Those days, she was lucky if he slept more than a few hours, spoke to her more than a few minutes. All the warmth drained from his voice and eyes until she hardly recognized him...until everything she'd cherished in their life together became a dull charade of going through motions.

Hawke frowned, drawing another too-shallow breath to ease the pressure on her chest. She felt like she'd been hit by a runaway bronto. And Anders _looked_ like he had.

"You should..." She cleared her throat and cringed at the flare in her chest. 

"Please don't. You're--"

"--we ran out, didn't we? Lyrium potions."

"Hawke, please. You're--"

She shivered under a sudden chill, despite wearing...his coat? It still smelled faintly of Kirkwall. Acrid, biting drakestone whenever she turned the wrong way. She shook her head when he reached for her again with a warmly glowing palm.

"No," she said firmly, drawing another careful breath, "_Look_ at you. You're nearly drained as it is. Don't waste your magic."

"Don't _waste--"_

"_Yes_," she insisted, "I can't defend us like this. You need to save your strength in case..." She was winded from talking alone and her head burned. She stood no chance _lifting_ her greatsword, let alone using it. She shuddered again and Anders shifted gingerly closer, wrapping an arm around her lower back. Sharing warmth, but not magic.

He had never been this compliant, not even before they ran. Something was wrong. She resisted the urge to cough and swallowed hard. "Anders, what happened?"

“Archers.” He winced when she frowned. “Starkhaven again. I think. I...didn’t get the best look at their armor.”

“They got away?”

”No.”

She had an educated guess how the rest of that story went. Hawke sighed and winced,

“I should have done a better job checking—“

”Hawke. _Please _don’t.”

”If I hadn’t been so blasted distracted...” _Distracted. _She froze and sucked in a harsh breath. It immediately drove her to an agonizing coughing fit.

The pain of it split her head in two. Her chest felt too small for her lungs, constricting and flat. Anders guided her to lay on her stomach and rubbed circles near the base of her spine.

”Try to breathe with me, love.” 

Breathing _at all _was a challenge, but she put every effort into focusing on him. Long breath in through the nose. Hold. Longer breath out through the lips. She sank her teeth into her tongue as the racking coughs finally settled into wheezing. When she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, it came away flecked with red. 

Anders helped her sit against the wall with him and she leaned heavily against his side. She didn't refuse his waterskin when he offered it. Her mind churned. She had nearly told him before the attack, and now...

"Slowly," he cautioned her, tilting water into her mouth. His voice strained and he couldn't keep his eyes away from the spots of blood on her hand, but there was no flicker of Justice. She swallowed and shifted uncomfortably against the jagged stone. It was a distant third to the crushing pressure in her chest and the pounding in her head, but her shoulder throbbed like something alive. She couldn't remember more than short flashes from the clearing. She shook her head,

"What happened to me?"

"They...hit your lung. I took out the arrow, but it needs time to expand again." He glared at the opposite wall, shifting a hand behind her back to buffer it from scraping stone. It was an immediate relief, but not so much that she suspected he was healing her. Collapsed lung. That explained much. 

Did he know? He hadn't said anything. With an injury this severe...perhaps it had been traumatic enough to cause a miscarriage. She didn't know enough about the signs, but she had seen it happen in Anders' clinic. A woman half-carried inside by a friend, who hadn't realized anything was wrong until she went septic. She had barely survived the night, even with Anders' surgical skill, copious amounts of lyrium, and specially mixed healing herbs. Hawke had been able to do nothing but retrieve supplies and murmur meaningless comforts to the woman while she lay on the brink of death.

If there was any possibility she had miscarried, Hawke couldn't afford to wait. Even if he was overextended.

She kept her tone carefully level, "Was there...anything else?" 

"A fever." He sighed. "Probably an infection."

An infection that had multiple potential sources. "I know I just told you _not_ to use magic--" She cut herself off in frustration and closed her eyes. "I was going to tell you something before we were attacked."

”Oh?”

“I think—_thought_—I might be...” She hated that she braced herself. Hawke released a slow breath and opened her eyes. “Pregnant. I might be pregnant.”

He went still next to her. No Justice, but she briefly smelled ozone. “Did someone hurt you?”

”What? No. If it’s...it would be yours.”

“That’s...not possible. Wardens can't...” 

She tried to shrug, but grimaced as the motion shot through her back. “Exactly what I thought.” Her head lolled against his shoulder. He said nothing, but she could practically hear his mind churning. She twisted to look at him, but he felt a million miles away. "Anders?"

"I'm sorry. I..." He shook his head and gently trailed his fingers through her hair. "What would you like me to do?"

"For now, just...see if I'm right? Just in case something..." She winced. "...in case something happened to it. In the attack. It could be what caused the fever. Or if there was never anything at all, then I suppose we don't have to worry about..." She was rambling. She shook her head to try and get back on topic. "You're hurt too. I don't want you exerting yourself more than absolutely necessary. I wouldn't even ask unless--"

"I know." 

He guided her to settle between his legs, brushed aside the sides of the coat, and placed both hands over her bare stomach. Soft blue broke the grey darkness of the cave. The only sound for several moments was their breathing mingled with the muted rustle of active magic. Hawke reminded herself to breathe as the spell faded. She took Anders' hands in hers and squeezed weakly. He sighed into her hair. 

"You were right," he said in a daze, "You're..."

Pregnant. She _was_ pregnant. She couldn't process anything for a moment other than an overwhelming wash of relief, followed quickly by growing fear. That the relief drowned the fear _terrified_ her. A smile and grimace fought on her face as she wove her fingers more securely with Anders'.

"Still?" she asked.

"Yes. I..." His thumb idled over her knuckles. "...what do you want to do?"

"I...don't know." Regardless of what she chose, she trusted him to help. But she could hardly ask him to do anything else tonight. Now that they knew she wasn't at immediate risk, it could wait. They had both been pushed to their limits. "We need rest. Both of us."

A shaking sigh against the crook of her neck. "We need to talk about this."

"We will. Once we're both more...ourselves again." As it was, the entire conversation felt surreal. Hazy. She suspected her fever had no small part in that. 

She felt him nod. "You're right. But you _need_ to tell me if anything feels wrong or causes you pain. The moment it does. I don't want to think about how much blood you lost today, and if you lose more..."

"I promise." The ghost of a smile crossed her face as he gently chafed her hands to warm them. Worry from him was a welcome change. 

“I _love_ you,” he murmured fervently. The desperation in his voice cut to her core. “I don’t...I haven’t said that enough.”

She blinked back tears and settled more comfortably against him. She would never confess the moments she doubted he still cared. Talking only went so far, and Ostwick was still a fresh wound. “I know.” 

* * *

Sleep was nearly impossible. Between her shuddering chills, shallow breaths, and sporadic coughing fits, Hawke couldn't relax. The rain pelting the stones outside the cave didn't help, nor did the occasional crashes of thunder. The storm would likely obscure their trail, but it provided one more noise her feverish brain could do without.

She was sure she must be keeping Anders awake as well. They twined together face to face on the floor, sharing his coat as a supplemental blanket to the travel-worn coverlet they carried. Every time she coughed, he'd rub her back until she calmed again. When she shivered, he held her closer. If this was another apology, it soothed her far better than guilt-ridden words.

After waking for at least the twentieth time that night, she found herself relaxing into a gentle wave of warmth. She nestled further into Anders' side and huffed.

"I told you not to do that," she muttered.

"You're not really complaining." He strengthened the spell slightly and chuckled when she nearly melted. "Besides, I've had plenty of time to recover."

"Mmph. If you say so."

A few minutes passed, but she was no closer to sleep. On top of that, improved comfort left her mind free to wander. She sighed.

"How awake are you?" she asked. 

"Awake enough."

She nodded and opened her eyes. He looked less worn, that much was true. She would have to take his word he had regained enough of his reserves to spend mana on her. "I'm guessing this hasn't happened before?"

"No. From what the Warden-Commander told us..." He frowned. "Nearly. I suppose she said _nearly_ impossible."

She lifted her hand in an improvised shrug. "So we don't know what would happen."

"No. I..." His eyes darted tellingly down and back. "What if it has the taint?"

Her stomach sank. "Does it?"

"Not that I could tell. Not yet." 

"Not yet?"

"I can sense darkspawn and other Wardens, but something this small...I don't know. It could be different."

She should have thought of that risk herself. If he couldn't sense anything though...her head tilted in consideration, "Would you know if that changed?"

"I...don't know," he repeated slowly, "Possibly. What are you suggesting?"

Suggesting. He was right. She needed to be explicit.

"I know this is..." She hesitated. "...the worst _possible_ timing, but...I want to keep it."

A heavy pause clogged the air before he said anything. When he did speak, he stiffened with calm resignation.

“Where would you go?"

"Where would _I_ go?" 

"It's dangerous enough being with me when we're both able to fight."

Hawke snorted. "You suppose this makes me too delicate to swing a sword?"

"Delicate?" He smiled briefly and shook his head. "Of course not. But you would have a few more months at best before your stomach would get in the way." His features went grim again. "If this is what you want, you should be somewhere...safe."

"_This_ again?" she bit back, "Weren't you the one who told me you would rather be on the run with me than safe with anyone else? Is it so hard to believe I feel the same?" Hawke rolled her eyes. "Be serious."

"I _am_ serious. What else could we do?"

Hawke hesitated. "I don't know that we've been helping the rebellion as we are now," she started cautiously, monitoring his eyes, "We haven't done anything but attract additional attention since Kirkwall. The number of templars that have been patrolling for us since Ostwick..." She shook her head. "There are so many more now than could have possibly been inside the tower. Any mages who escaped will have a harder chance escaping permanently. Even with the phylacteries we destroyed."

She didn't dare argue further until she saw his reaction. Rather, more likely, _Justice's _reaction. In all their time together, she had never once backed down from the cause of the mages. If Justice took her words the wrong way...

"You can't ask me to _abandon--_"

"Not abandon," she said quickly, "Just...allow others to take the reins for now. They can accomplish much more than we can.”

Anders searched her face and his anger dissipated nearly as soon as it arrived. He looked utterly depleted again as he traced a faltering hand up her side.

”You really believe that?”

She sagged with relief. ”I would _never_ have left Bethany behind if I didn’t believe we would put her in worse danger by staying. I just didn’t know how far that...that _target_ on our backs carried. It’s not safe for us to approach Circles, or hunt templars, or stay in the open. Not just for us. For the sake of every mage nearby. As it is, we're making matters _worse._”

Hawke allowed the silence to settle around them as her words sank in. Even if he agreed, where would they go? Their few remaining friends aside, who would be willing to help the two most wanted fugitives from the Chantry? 

"How do we know when it's time to return?" he asked finally.

"I know the code Varric uses with his network. He'll have a better view of what's happening than we ever could on our own." If the letter came from her, Varric would listen. "But...we also have to consider the possibility this _is_ permanent. That the only role we were meant to play is bringing this to a head."

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Oh, I doubt we'll be lucky enough to bow out gracefully."

Despite everything, she could almost picture everything ending well. A small farm on the outskirts of a remote village back in Ferelden. A garden for healing herbs. Dogs and cats, obviously. Perhaps some cows or goats. An outbuilding for a clinic. A loft for Bethany to stay. A warded area to teach magic, especially if their own child was a mage. 

A lovely thought. They had to get there first. 

She wove her fingers with his and smiled faintly. "So where do we go?"

"I...might know someone who could help." He shook his head in chagrin, "But she will _not_ be happy to see me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be crystal clear, I’m pro-choice. There’s a danger of coming off as the opposite when you’re writing about an unintended pregnancy like this, but my goal is always to write what the character herself would choose and think, even if that doesn’t necessarily align with what I would think/do in the same situation. 
> 
> Hawke lost nearly all her family in a relatively short period of time. I don’t see my Hawke giving up the chance at having a family of her own unless the pregnancy itself was too dangerous to continue. I wanted to balance their discussion here to put an emphasis on that choice on her part. The last thing I want to do is write something that implies either 1) considering terminating a pregnancy (or going through with it) is evil or 2) that the man's worry overrides the woman's choice. I see too much of that in fiction. 
> 
> As far as the biology of a pregnancy with a Warden parent (or parents), I have zero idea the exact risks that would entail. Haven’t found anything in canon to show one way or another, so I’m largely banking on Wardens being able to sense other tainted beings (so it would be fairly easy to tell if the pregnant person or the fetus itself was/became tainted...particularly for someone who’s been a Warden for 6+ years at this point). Once again, trying to find realistic limits for magical healing/diagnosis abilities. I figure pregnancy detection is possible if you could hear a heartbeat, but you couldn’t do something like a drugstore pregnancy test based on hormonal changes.
> 
> Tldr; I noodle over every little bit of the logic until my head ties itself in a knot because it’ll bug me if I wind up presenting something inconsistent. And I leave detailed stream of consciousness author's notes to prove that I've thought things through because I'm not sure I will remember my own thought process otherwise.
> 
> PS: New guest star incoming!


	6. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Andras” and “Anders” are waaaay too close together. Curse my insistence on using default names on protagonists!!

Two tense weeks passed in the cramped cave.

They left only to refill their water skins or relieve themselves. Scavenging wasn't easy this far into the mountains, so they were reduced to eating mushrooms and, on the rare occasion they found them, berries. Anders could have ranged further on his own to forage, but Hawke point-blank _refused_ to allow him outside alone. Between Ostwick and the incident with the Starkhaven archers, the surrounding area was bound to be absolutely _crawling _with templars. Why would she wait in relative safety, wondering if he'd been captured? 

She’d agitated herself into another coughing fit arguing; he’d conceded quickly after that.

Light walking was a good test of how her lung was healing anyway.

Every morning and evening followed the same routine. Drain the swelling on her back. Bandage it again. Monitor her fever. Check her lungs. Check for blight. Every day brought improvement, but she avoided optimism. Escaping the templars, avoiding blight infection, having any modicum of peace to actually _raise_ a child...it was a fantasy to ask. Hawke did her best not to even touch her stomach; it felt like inviting bad luck.

She missed her mother. Leandra would have been over the _moon_ about the possibility of grandchildren. She wished she could allow herself that uncomplicated excitement.

Hawke sighed, trying to get comfortable sitting on the cave floor. Her back hurt _constantly. _They tried to sleep as much as possible to conserve energy, but their stolen bedrolls scarcely masked the hard stone and neither of them slept restfully. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn't had nightmares.

One more night, and they would move on. Her fever had broken and her lung had mostly healed. She could travel again, if not at their usual pace, and they'd already lingered too long. 

"I didn't think she was Warden-Commander anymore," she mused, poring over Anders' crudely-drawn map in the dirt, "I don't suppose you expect us to go to Denerim?"

His frown twisted as he shook his head. "She isn’t. And not Denerim. Amaranthine. Hopefully they haven't gotten around to sealing the smugglers' tunnels. We can get close to Delilah’s house without drawing attention."

"Why not just try the Keep?"

"Pretty sure Warden-Commander Andras is still in charge. I'd rather avoid being conscripted twice if I can help it."

“That...doesn’t sound possible.”

”Never say never when it comes to Wardens.”

More than true. Help a city defend itself against a Qunari invasion? Not a chance. Try to bind an ancient darkspawn magister with blood magic? Well, you didn’t know until you tried, did you? All fair in the name of duty.

Hawke hovered a finger over the pebble marking their current location. “I don’t expect we’ll have any luck booking passage across the Waking Sea.” Her mouth twisted. “Should have rowed for Ferelden when we had the chance. Someone will have taken that rowboat by now.”

"I would suggest walking around, but we hardly want to wind up in Orlais."

Passing Val Royeaux as the Chantry's most wanted. Not the brightest plan. Hawke tensed.

"No." She nodded tightly in agreement. "Rowing it is. Cross somewhere narrow." 

The easiest narrow crossing would have been Kirkwall. Not bloody likely. 

She sighed. "We need to go back to Ostwick, don't we?”

"We won't go near the tower. I promise." His arm circled her waist, natural as it would have been years ago. She absentmindedly leaned against his shoulder, a deeper frown creasing her brows. 

Anders was much more...himself than he'd been in months. He spoke more, even just to fill the silence. He smiled more readily, even _joked. _He made a point of touching her every time he was near enough: light brushes of his fingers along her arm, a kiss to her temple, a hand resting on her knee. Some part of him always stayed in contact with her. 

She wanted to be relieved. Instead, she was wary. 

Their last week in Kirkwall had been a similar burst of affection and sudden energy. She'd been so grateful to see him _smile_ for her again, she ignored every warning. He held her, but rarely spoke. They made love each night, but, even with his focus on her so intense it seared, he felt miles away.

In hindsight, she knew it was all an extended way of saying goodbye. She'd mistaken desperation for passion, sadness for tenderness.

Regret for love?

Just how much had he been plotting his death at her hands in those moments?

She couldn't afford to trust him fully. Still, she dissolved her frown and replaced it with a wan smile and nod. 

"We haven't been seen in that area in weeks," she agreed, "Hopefully the search won't be so concentrated there. Still..." 

She turned and rummaged through her pack, plucking out a crumpled flyer they'd scavenged off a dead mercenary. Side by side sketches of her and Anders occupied most of the parchment, an impressive list of warnings and substantial reward offer underlined each of them. Wanted alive, which came as a mild surprise.

Perhaps not. It wouldn't shock her if that caveat was in hopes of a more public execution for them both. The image vividly assaulted her mind: Anders Tranquil beside her own severed head on a pike, placidly marching between templars to gilded gallows before the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux.   
  
More fuel for nightmares. As if she had a shortage of material. She grit her teeth and focused on keeping her dinner where it belonged. 

She would never allow them to be captured alive. The Chantry still offered a finder's fee for indisputably recognizable corpses anyway. Their hunters could live with the disappointment.

_Whatever you do, just do it._

_Enough._ That was a last resort. The first plan was Amaranthine.

She allowed her eyes to shift out of focus and blur the writing, so she could concentrate only on their likenesses. 

The drawings on the parchment were off in subtle ways. Her lips were too full, his nose too narrow. They'd inexplicably given her a tattoo. Regardless, it was still close enough to make them easily identifiable traveling together. If they planned to pass near Ostwick proper, they would need to be more subtle. She chewed her lip in thought.

"We can switch weapons for a start," she mused, "They're expecting a male mage."

"Because no one will look twice at a wandering apostate?" Anders challenged dryly. 

"Won't look that way if I carry it instead of strapping it to my back." Hawke shrugged, "I can fake a limp if anyone comes too close. Make it look like a walking stick." Another reason to be grateful they had left her father's staff on the ship: the replacement was a gnarled bit of wood much more believable as mundane. She held the poster up and squinted, eyes darting between Anders and his likeness. He hadn't had a proper shave since they ran off, but that wouldn't hide much.

"The beard helps," she concluded, "But they weren't far off otherwise." 

He smirked. "Is that your way of hinting I need a haircut?"

Hawke shrugged and rolled up the parchment. "If I had a pair of scissors, sure." She was itching to cut her own hair, though that fell lowest on her priority list. The longest strands now fell a finger's width or two below her chin and drove her to distraction. Probably for the best. Anything different enough from their appearances in Kirkwall to discourage second glances was helpful. 

An _awful_ ripping noise broke the silence. Hawke looked up and choked a startled laugh. Anders smiled sheepishly, holding the chunk of his sawed-off hair in one hand, wielding her dagger in the other.

”Oh, don’t laugh. It sounds much easier in Varric’s books.”

“You pulled it up from the back. Overextended. Of _course_ it’s going to be uneven. Haven’t you ever cut your own hair?”

”Never this short. You _could_ offer to help instead of mocking me, you know.”

She rolled her eyes and shuffled to him on her knees. It looked even worse up close. She snorted and burrowed her fingers in the lopsidedly short hair in the back.

”You could have just asked to begin with,” she chided. Her smile flickered when her eyes returned to the knife in his hand. “You’re _sure _wedon’t have scissors?“

“Well, I’m not planning on meeting any foreign dignitaries. Doesn’t need to be perfect.”

”Right. Only a secret meeting with the Queen. As you do.” She was stalling. She shook her head and firmly took the offered knife from him. “All right. It’s not as if I can make it any _worse_.”

”You know, maybe I should try and fix it myself if all you’re going to do is insult me.”

”Shut up and hold still, would you?”

She caught a glimpse of his teasing smile before he faced frontward again. The tension seeped from his shoulders entirely. 

_How he could be so relaxed, waiting to die, was beyond her. He could at least have the decency to _look _at her when he demanded her judgment._

Hawke swallowed thickly and shoved the thought back. She took a small section of hair between the sides of her fingers and carefully sliced through the strands. It would take some time using the wrong tool, but...

_It would be easier to save her home and family if she did as she was asked. _

Another section. Another cut. Much better already. 

_She was good at losing family by now. What was one more?_

She pinched the side of her tongue between her teeth and continued working. Her lips trembled, but her hands remained steady. 

_He had to pay for what he'd done. Perhaps that was her punishment as well. Willful ignorance was no excuse._

Her hands moved toward the front of his head, but she stayed behind him, where he couldn't see her contorted face. Another cut. Progress. She tossed the shorn strands in a pile with the rest. 

_She always kept her knife sharp, though she rarely used it. She knew the vital points in a body, though she never attacked with enough finesse to matter. There were few lucky hits one could take from a greatsword._

Her hand shook when she moved to the next section. She gripped her wrist like a vice until it stilled. 

_The heart was not difficult to memorize. Not when she'd woken with his beating steadily against her ear, her chest, her shoulder for hundreds of mornings. _That_ morning. Not when she intimately knew the scar that already lay above his, marking it like a target._

She couldn't freeze too long, or Anders would notice. She was steady enough to continue. Nearly finished. 

_The worst part wasn't admitting he was right, nor the ease with which her knife slipped between his ribs, but the sigh of relief after he crumpled to the ground. Thanking her with his last breath._

Her fingers slipped. The knife clattered to the stone floor. A blossom of red welled and spread from the base of her hand to her knuckle. 

“Hawke?”

Her heart pounded too loudly to hear most anything but her pulse. She scrambled backward until her shoulders slammed into the wall.

Her fists clenched and the fresh cut on her hand split further. She hardly felt it.

She couldn't _breathe._

Anders already knelt over her, speaking soothing words she couldn't comprehend and saturating the wound with healing magic until it sealed. His hands urgently scanned every inch of her, starting with her chest. That should have been a comfort, but there was nothing further to physically heal. 

She wanted to tell him she was all right. She could breathe again. She’d only startled herself. Her mouth opened, but a thin whimper emerged in place of words.

She _needed_ to say something. He’d think her lung had collapsed again. He wore himself thin as it was, and she was _sure_ he’d never fully recovered from overextending himself carrying her to the cave...

”Marian.”

She stilled. He hadn’t said her name in months. Justice was never so intimate, after all.

“I’m right here. What do you need?”

Hawke still couldn’t speak, but grasped his hand tightly and tugged him until he fell into her lap. His arms wrapped around her without question and she clutched desperately at his back over the thin shirt he wore. Her right hand found the ridge of the scar to the left of his spine. She slumped in boneless relief to find it dry. 

Anders held her until her breathing slowed. Before he spoke again, he rose to his knees to better see her face. His hands cupped her cheeks, thumbs gently swiping away tears she hadn't realized she'd shed. 

"Marian." Her name again. His voice was achingly gentle. "What happened, love?"

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, allowing their breath to mingle a moment before answering. She shook her head and winced. "I don't...I shouldn't have panicked. I don't panic."

His hands stroked down her neck to squeeze her shoulders. "Do you know what caused it?”

She was careful not to look at the discarded knife.

_Yes._

”No.” Hawke wasn’t a good liar. Anders’ brows creased in worry.

“Love, _please_ let me help you.”

She would have to trust him with this; she might just explode otherwise. It was best to get it over with. She was in no state for subtlety. Her teeth ground together before she nodded.

"Kirkwall." The city's name was a curse on her tongue. "You wanted me to..._asked _me to..." She swallowed around a sob and forced herself to finish. "You wanted me to _kill you_, Anders."

Her hands shook, either from anger or a fresh crest of panic. He sat back, slowly laced his fingers between hers, but said nothing. She focused on his warmth, on the strong throb of his pulse beneath her fingertips. It was easier to remain calm when she didn’t have a weapon in hand. She couldn’t hurt him as easily as he could her.

“No one else had a choice. Father got sick. That ogre...Carver was dead before he knew what happened. Mother...” A dry sob tore from her throat, and she clutched his hands hard enough to make her shoulders shudder. “You _wanted to leave_. You wanted to _make me_...” 

Bile rose in her throat, choking her words again.   
  
“Love, I’m—“

Her eyes snapped up to his. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize. It doesn’t _mean anything anymore_.” 

Hawke was beyond tired of hearing his justifications. With him, it was never an apology alone. 

He had been _sorry_ for breaking her heart..._but_ he had warned her he would do so.

_Sorry_ for not telling her about his plans..._but_ he couldn’t risk her interfering.

She could imagine what he’d say now. He was sorry, but it was her responsibility as Champion to pass judgment? He was sorry, but...

The guessing wasn’t helpful. 

She forced her stinging eyes to focus. She was mildly surprised to see his eyes rimmed red, his face twisted, but she couldn’t be distracted. “I need you to answer me honestly.”

He gently pressed her hands. “Anything.”

“Why me?” She inhaled slowly, trembling when she released the breath. “Why would you _ever_ ask that of me?”

He waited so long, she suspected he wouldn’t answer. “I was...terrified,” he confessed, “If Meredith captured me, it would be a slow death or Tranquility.” He sighed, dropping his gaze to their joined hands. “Justice...both of us trusted you to finish what we’d started afterward.”

Her jaw clenched. “After I killed you,” she corrected bleakly, “Say what you mean.” He was silent, so she continued ruthlessly, “I see it every night, you know. But I can’t...I don’t stop.” 

He reclaimed one of his hands to brush a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “Every night? Why didn’t you—“

“Don’t blame that on _me_. I didn’t know who I’d be talking to.” 

Hawke was no fool. Even now, Justice was listening. They had an understanding, but wildly different priorities. Different scales. Spirits dealt in macrocosms, and solely in black and white. Her suffering only registered with Anders. She leaned back, letting her head rest against the cave wall.

”You would have sent me away,” she murmured, “Or he would. I suppose if it was your choice, you’d at least leave a note.”

Silence dragged between them for a long moment, enough that Hawke nearly found herself dozing against the wall. Everything was more exhausting than it had been weeks before. Her eyes cracked open at Anders’ sudden sigh.

”You don’t want me to apologize.”

At least he’d been listening. She nodded. “No.”

”What _would_ help?”

”Promise you won’t try to send me away again. And that you won’t leave.” She shrugged and winced. “I won’t believe you. But it’s a start.” 

A weak smile. “You want me to make a promise you don’t believe I’ll keep?”

”You asked,” she reminded him. She smiled stiffly and closed the small distance between them, taking both of his hands back in hers. “I’m hoping for something like, ‘I, Anders, promise not to run off or force Marian Hawke to leave, even if I delude myself into thinking it’s for her own good.’”

That earned a small laugh from him. He squeezed her hands before speaking, “I can do you one better, sweetheart.”

”Oh?”

Anders brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed each in turn. “I promise to stay by your side, until you send me away.”

Hawke’s mouth twitched. “Never going to happen.”

“I know.” 

She smiled and released him. “Now that that’s settled—“ Not fully, but it likely never would be. “—what do you say we say goodbye to the cave?”

”Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

* * *

Six weeks’ slow travel and a stolen Ostwick rowboat brought them to their destination at last.

They had scarcely reached shore near Amaranthine when a lone rider came thundering down the beach toward them. Rail thin, built like a viper, pale as winter, wearing the Wardens' griffon heraldry and dragonskin armor so dark it seemed to absorb all light that hit it. The woman swept off her horse and stalked toward them. Her dagger and longsword were still sheathed on her back, but the fury blazing in her sharp blue eyes convinced Hawke she wouldn't need them. Hawke had reached for her weapon, but Anders' hand on hers confirmed her suspicion. 

The stranger was Elissa Theirin. Hero of Ferelden, former Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Queen of Ferelden, Dragon Slayer, Veteran of the Fifth Blight. The woman possessed more titles than most people had smallclothes.

"What were you _thinking?"_ the woman snarled, stopping inches from Anders and rising on her toes to nearly match his height. "_Both _of you knew better. _Both of you_...Maker's hairy arse, _how many times_ did we talk about this?" She threw up a dark gloved hand in frustration. "You know, how possession was a _bad thing_ neither of you would _ever_ give into?"

Anders crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Because making an ally out of a talking darkspawn emissary is so much smarter?"

She froze, lip curled in a grimace. "I don't recall the Architect causing any particular trouble after the Mother, do you? Less darkspawn in the Deep Roads, too."

"Knew that would happen when you made that bargain did you?"

"I knew I'd still be in control of my own _mind_ after!" She rocked back on her heels and scowled. "Who exactly am I speaking to right now?"

"That's funny. I don't _feel_ mind controlled. And rich, coming from the leader of an order that initiates recruits by _putting a voice in their heads."_

She scoffed. "When that voice tells me to destroy a city, I'll be the first to let _you _know then. Common courtesy."

"_Enough!"_ Hawke wasn't going to stand there and watch them argue all day. "This is getting us nowhere."

Turning to Hawke at last, the other woman's eyes drifted to the swell of her stomach beneath the thin tunic and traveling cloak. The Queen's face fell a fraction, just for a moment, before her expression returned to steel. She laughed humorlessly.

"Guess _someone _figured that loophole out then. No one said..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Never mind. You could have asked for help. And earlier." She glared pointedly at Anders again. "_Years_ earlier."

Anders shrugged. "The Free Marches aren't exactly in your jurisdiction."

"Since when has that stopped me? And I _do _have contacts outside the nobility and the Wardens." She gestured at the boat the pair of them had _borrowed_ in Ostwick. "How else would I know to watch for you?"

Hawke frowned. "You've been spying on us."

The Queen scoffed. "Of course I have. If the damned phylactery would have worked, I would have found them long before this got out of hand."

Anders' eyes flashed blue, but he remained in control. The slip did not go unnoticed by the Queen. Her sharp eyes narrowed, muscles coiled in preparation until he spoke again, "And here I thought you didn't buy into the templars' excuses." 

His own voice, thank the Maker. 

"I thought you were _dead!"_ the Queen snapped, "If you needed help, if you were in danger again because I wasn't there to protect you from them..." She shook her head and hardened her expression again, swiping at the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "It doesn't matter. It stopped working. Didn't glow. I thought that confirmed it. That you'd been killed." She huffed in annoyance, baring her teeth, "And I had no way of knowing what had happened to Justice. I could only hope he'd made it back to the Fade. I didn't hear anything else until Alistair saw you in Kirkwall this year."

Hawke frowned, remembering. Anders _had_ gone with her that day. It couldn't have been more than a month before the Chantry attack. "How he even recognized you..."

The other woman gave the smallest smile, affection brightening her eyes. "Yes, well...he's always had a knack for faces. And it was the first time we enacted the Right of Conscription together."

Hawke exchanged a confused glance with Anders. "How...romantic?"

The Queen barked a short laugh and shook her head. "The little things, I suppose. But we should get back to the Keep. Too long in the open is asking for trouble."

Anders frowned. "Because Sidona won't go running off to the templars the moment she sees me?"

A shadow passed over the other Warden's face before she gave a tight smile. "She won't be bothering us. Warden-Commander Andras chose to resign her commission and return to Orlais. She even had the courtesy to waive her right to input on a successor." A feral glint touched her eyes. "Which reverts to the next most recent Warden-Commander of Ferelden, of course."

"Right." Hawke was sure she was missing something. "And why would she do that? Because you said pretty please?"

"Because I reminded her that her templar friends would likely not appreciate her use of blood magic." The Queen arched a brow and smirked. "She should have used something other than her palm as a conductor. Obvious to anyone who knows where to look. I'll bet she only kept her hands wrapped when there were templars about. Overconfidence. Unsurprising."

"Don't templars have no authority over Wardens?"

The Queen laughed again. "They don't. But she was fool enough to allow them into our ranks. If word got out, she would have been dead within the week. This way is cleaner.” She took a long drink of something _foul_-smelling from her hip flask, shuddered, and shrugged carelessly. “I'm pleased she agreed."

Apparently, the woman's infamy for manipulation was well-earned. 

She didn't take offense at their lack of response, just re-mounted her horse and jerked her head west. "Come on then. We'll go in the back way. I know what it is to go without warm meals and a soft bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debated whether to include that last section in this chapter or the next, but I did promise my guest star would show up in the next update, so have an extra long chapter! 
> 
> I wrote a one shot in my Alistair/Cousland series that gives a little peek into Anders' and Elissa's relationship while he was with the Wardens ( [Last Straw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22739614) ). Someone has a bad track record for making friends of all the apostates who wind up leaving/having ulterior motives. Good thing she never met Solas.
> 
> I’ve been googling pregnancy symptoms so much that Google thinks _I’m_ pregnant. I see what happened but...guys. Literally impossible. Note to self: incognito mode for researching, ya genius.
> 
> Didn't have to research anything for the panic attack though. Write what you know, am I right?
> 
> Finally, I have a professional exam coming up at the end of April. If posting becomes spotty, it’s because I’m studying and bored and promise to return more consistently in May!


	7. Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may (or may not) have noticed that I swapped my original user name for something a little less generic. Rest assured I'm still me!
> 
> That said, I think we could all use a nice fluffy interlude right about now. Don't know about you guys, but I'm self isolating alone and am looking up cuddle fics like no one's business. Stay safe out there, everyone.
> 
> PS: I did read _Tevinter Nights_. I'll make sure and post a big bold spoiler warning if I plan on referencing anything from it in a given chapter!

As it happened, the former Warden-Commander intended to set them up in her own quarters. A full tub waited in front of the fireplace, fresh clothes hung in an open wardrobe, and a tray of food rested invitingly at the foot of an immaculately-made double bed.

"I don't sleep well anyway," the Commander explained brusquely, cutting off Hawke's open mouth with an impatient wave. She took another quick drink from her flask before finishing rapid-fire, "I have plans to attend. We can talk in the morning. Keep the curtains shut and _don’t wander._"

The door clicked shut behind her and Anders chuckled. "I'm surprised she didn't lock us in."

"Well, you _did_ desert. Technically." Perhaps twice if she counted Justice.

He smiled and looped an arm around Hawke's waist. "Details, details. I'm more concerned about bath, food, bed. In that order."

"_Food_, bath, bed," she corrected firmly, "My stomach's been eating itself since we stopped walking."

Another chuckle warmed the back of her neck. "If you insist."

The tray held two brimming bowls of thick stew, a wedge of cheese, and a hunk of fresh bread. Hawke didn't much care what she ate so long as they were done with the bloody _mushrooms._

She sank into an armchair near the food and drained half the hearty broth of her stew in one long pull. She barely registered the taste. Fish, potatoes...onion? Bland, but practically a delicacy when she hadn't had a proper meal in months. She drew her thumb over her lips and shamelessly licked a bit of grease from the tip.

"Should I have someone bring seconds?" Anders smirked and pushed the cheese to her side of the tray. "If there's one good thing about Wardens, they've always got a full larder."

She rolled her eyes, cracked the bread in half, and scooped a heap of grayish vegetables onto the crust. "You're one to talk. Perhaps I should keep my hands off the tray to be safe?" He was in surprisingly good spirits, especially given his near slip when his former Commander mentioned his phylactery. Hawke chewed thoughtfully. It was comforting knowing the device didn't work, but she'd feel better knowing it had been destroyed. She swallowed and made a note to ask. 

"What are we supposed to call her, anyway?" she asked suddenly, ripping a chunk off the cheese wedge, "I mean...she _has_ a name."

Anders chuckled. "She does. Somehow, I don't think we're on first-name terms anymore. That leaves us with 'Commander' or 'Her Majesty'."

"Well, she's not _my _commanding officer. And it’s not as if anyone _doesn’t_ know her name.” She shrugged and took another bite. “I’m asking her. If we’re around her for more than a day, titles are going to get old in a hurry.”

”Just don’t try nicknames. She gets touchy.”

Her lip twitched. “Fortunate she never met Varric, then.” 

He would have come up with something good, too. Best Hawke could think of offhand was ‘Thorny.’ Completely unfair given she and Anders were the primary cause of the other woman’s stress. She scraped the dregs of her stew onto the remaining cheese and frowned.

”What was she like? When you knew her before?”

Anders sat back, the last bit of his bread in hand. “Different,” he answered finally, “She was...very young. Did a good job convincing people she could handle everything on her plate, but in the end...”

He sighed, plucking a stray crumb from his lap and tossing it into his empty bowl. “We didn’t part on good terms. The Architect was her breaking point. She left for Denerim the moment the dust settled and never returned. Resigned her commission.”

Hawke could fill the remaining blanks in herself; that had been when Commander Andras took charge and Anders’ life in the Wardens had taken a sharp turn. Little wonder there was bad blood between them.

She wouldn’t pry further. Not now.

The hearty meal caught up to her nearly the moment they finished, but she refused to sleep in her filthy traveling clothes one more night. She pulled her stained tunic over her head and shimmied her breeches down her legs unceremoniously before approaching the stone basin in her smalls and socks. The tub was full and still steaming. She dipped a hand inside, leaving a trail of filth that disappeared nearly the second it materialized. She rotated her clean hand in amazement; the bath had dissolved even the dirt under her nails.

"How...?" She found the marks carved meticulously into the side. "Oh! Dwarven, isn't it?" She didn't recognize the dimly glowing runes, but she'd seen Sandal work with them enough to know the pattern. She wouldn't put it past Orzammar to send this sort of gift, especially to a monarch who'd secured the current King's throne. Probably sent an identical one to Denerim.

Anders looked over her shoulder. "Must be." He traced one of the runes with his finger, briefly lost in thought. "I suppose it doesn't matter who claims first bath then?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Still, she hesitated before resting a hand over his and meeting his eyes. "Join me?"

"You're sure?"

"Yes." She tunneled her fingers through his short hair and affectionately kissed his cheek. "Let's not waste time. I doubt the water will get cold, but I'm _not_ a patient woman."

He raised an eyebrow, half smiling as he gestured toward himself. "Liar."

She bumped his hip with hers. "Impatient with _things,_" she corrected with a wistful smile, "Fine."

Neither of them had fully undressed since Kirkwall, and neither were a sight for sore eyes. They both sported shades of purpling bruises, half-healed wounds, and thin films of dirt, sweat, and scabbed blood. His ribs were _much_ more prominent, but her stomach sloped out just enough to obscure half her graying socks. He’d not been eating enough. Neither of them had, of course, but he looked nearly ill. Hopefully they would be off the road long enough for him to put back some weight.

She concealed her concern, stooped to remove her last bit of clothing, and waved Anders on.

"You first," she said, "I think I'll fit better in front."

The water turned nearly black the moment he sat down, and Hawke snorted. Sweet Maker, they needed this more badly than she could have dreamed. Perhaps that was the true reason the former Commander had given them her rooms; a non-magical bath would have needed four water changes before they were both clean.

When she finally sank into the water and settled between his legs, she couldn't hold back a long moan of satisfaction. His chest shook against her back with a quiet laugh.

"Better?" he asked.

Her head rolled against his shoulder and she met his teasing eyes with a soft smile. "Not quite. We need to see what kind of fancy soaps we can waste on road dirt." 

"That so?" 

"Mm. And I'm making you wash my hair. I can't be convinced to lift my arms, sadly."

His hand found hers under the rapidly clearing water. "Happens to the best of us, love."

Her heart missed a beat and she allowed her eyes to close, just for a breath, to savor the rare moment of peace. No reason to stand guard, no empty stomachs to ignore, just the security of their interlaced fingers and his legs cradling her hips. For a handful of precious seconds, there was nothing but the blissful simplicity of his skin warm against hers.

How long had it been since they’d touched like this? Likely the night before the Chantry.

_Let this be real._ _Not a distraction. Not an apology. Not a lie._

A soft kiss pressed just behind her ear. “You’re tense.”

She squeezed his hand in response. “I’m all right,” she insisted, cracking a faint smile, “I’ve been tense for seven years, Anders. I’ll live.”

His answering scoff told her that answer was unsatisfactory. Anders’ free hand moved to her right shoulder, releasing trails of glowing warmth as his fingers dug gently into her muscles. Hawke sighed,

”I’m not about to complain if you keep doing _that_, though.”

He laughed softly, sending pleasant gooseflesh up her spine. “You never have.”

He brought his other hand to her opposite shoulder, kneading both with the same careful attention. He alternated using the tips of his fingers, the heels of his palms, deeper circles with his thumbs alone where his hands would otherwise have been trapped between them. Her stiffness evaporated as his skilled hands traveled over her shoulders, back, ribs, waist. His right hand only skimmed the still-tender mark below her shoulder blade on the way down, leaving a light chill to soothe the persistent ache.

Healer’s hands, even when he wasn’t healing.

He moved to each of her arms in turn, firmly massaging away the sharp soreness of more than a day's worth rowing from Ostwick. More waves of numbing cold, followed by tension-melting warmth. Hawke chuckled.

"You're going to make me fall asleep."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He stretched for the pitcher at the side of the tub and moved back a touch. "Tilt your head back."

"Mhm..." She'd been half-kidding with her hair-washing comment, but who was she to stop him now?

The water sluiced through her hair, taking weeks of grime and dirt with it. Anything missed in the first pass was massaged away by a lightly scented soap and Anders’ fingertips. When everything was rinsed from her scalp, she felt immediately lighter. Like a full person again. She cupped her hands in the bath and splashed it over her face, barely resisting the urge to dunk her entire head underwater and shake like a dog.

“And here I thought you couldn’t lift your arms.”  
  
“To be fair, you didn’t waste energy convincing me to change my mind.”

“Tricked into touching you. Oh, how I _suffer_.”

Hawke flicked a few droplets at him over her shoulder and snorted. “Ass. Pass the soap. I’m not getting out until I can’t even _remember_ the smell of sweat.”

* * *

Long after they were clean, the water lulled her into a doze. She would have fallen entirely asleep, had her stomach settled. There was a lazy fluttering just below her navel, even well after their meal. More noticeable now that she wasn't moving.

The realization dawned on her and her palm flattened over her stomach. Nothing to feel against her hand, but...

"_Oh_, I..."

"Marian?"

"Can you...wait. It stopped. No, never mind, I..." A surprised laugh tore from her in a shaking gasp. "_Maker_, that's the strangest thing. Can you feel that?"

She tugged his hand down to replace hers and watched his face expectantly. He frowned, but his expression cleared as he sent a small tendril of magic from his palm. The water glowed a suffused blue and his eyes widened.

"...yes. I..."

When he couldn't finish, Hawke laughed softly and covered his hand with hers. "I feel like I should introduce myself. Seems rude not to say anything."

“Can it hear us?”

She laughed again. “Shouldn’t you know?”

”Well, I cant exactly _ask._”

”Maybe it’s ‘kick twice for yes’?”

That her stomach coincidentally chose that moment to flutter again set them both snickering.   
  
“Well, all right,” Hawke relented lightly, “Hello to you too. Comfortable?” She waited several seconds for more movement and raised an eyebrow. “Come on now, cub. If you go quiet on me, your father’s going to think I’ve gone crazy and started a conversation with my own navel.” She chuckled softly. “You’ve met. He’s the one who’s been checking up on you. On us. Making sure neither of us get sick. We’re in good hands, you know.”

Another flicker below her palm and a shaking breath behind her. She smiled and reached back with her free hand to toy with the hair at the nape of Anders’ neck. When she leaned back to meet his gaze, she kissed the clear trail of a teardrop down his cheek and nestled into his shoulder.   
  
“Talk to me?”

"It...this didn't seem real until now."

"I know." Her lips curved into a smile against his neck. “It’s just nice knowing _something’s_ finally going right. Even if there’s still a long way to go.”

Not just with this pregnancy. They were still being hunted. Hawke harbored no delusions they were safe just because they sheltered with the Hero of Ferelden. They would be hiding the rest of their lives; she had accepted that from the moment he’d first kissed her in his clinic three years ago.

“I never thought this would happen,” he murmured, “Even before becoming a Warden.”

”Me either.”

Silence stretched for a moment, comfortable this time as Anders drew lazy patterns over her skin with his fingertips. He finally came to rest near their joined hands on her stomach.

”You never said you wanted children.”

It was no accusation, but a question. She shrugged, her answer immediate,

”Not if I couldn’t have them with you.” Hawke laughed softly, “Sometimes I would fantasize about things settling down for us so we could adopt someday. But that always seemed too far away to believe.”

He was quiet again, but she could practically read his thoughts. He would blame himself, think he’d cheated her into settling for a life with him. She tilted back enough to look him in the eye.

”Anders.” Hawke kissed him when his frowning gaze turned to her. She pulled back with a chiding smile, “What I really want is family. And we’ve had that for _years_. The cub is a welcome...surprise member.” 

He laughed, low and strangled, but still a laugh. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

“One of us has to be,” she teased lightly. She fondly brushed his damp hair back from his forehead and cupped the back of his neck. Her words came without a thought, “I love you.”  
  
His answering smile was heartrending. “I love you too.”

She tilted her head for another kiss, lingering despite the uncomfortable angle.

For months, she had only kissed him for reassurance. Reminding him she still loved him. Praying he’d stay with her. Before that...

No. She couldn’t continue to compare his every action to the past, or she’d lose her mind.

They were very much overdue for new memories.

She pulled away only briefly, to turn in his arms and straddle his thighs, before grasping his shoulders and falling back into the kiss. Her fingers trailed down his chest as her tongue traced the swell of his bottom lip. She felt the vibration beneath her palms and mouth more than she heard his groan. His hands dropped to her sides, squeezing her waist, thumbs drawing insistent patterns over the slight jut of her hip bones. She pressed her forehead against his to catch her breath, opening her eyes to find his already dark with need that more than matched her own.

The unspoken question hung between them, the same one he’d asked before the bath. 

”Yes,” she said, voice rough and a smile stretching across her kiss-swollen lips, “If you’re ready too.” 

His eyes softened as he kissed her again, gentle and sweet. When he retreated, his mouth pulled into a familiar teasing smirk. “Food, bath, bed. Aren’t you predictable?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fade to black*
> 
> What can I say, the timing's right, I was getting sick of them fighting, and I had the urge to write a cuddle chapter. All of us could use a break. 
> 
> I don’t normally put too much emphasis on this, but with the high traffic workarounds AO3 is using to keep the archive up and running, hits aren’t registering for guests or logged-out users. Kudos and reviews are even more appreciated than usual for all writers here...it’s the best way we know what folks want to read!
> 
> P.S: Pretty sure the bath rune thing is possible based on some stuff from _The Stolen Throne_.  
P.P.S: I have a bad habit of using mages as Icy Hot patches in fics. No regrets.


	8. Resumption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the longer than usual wait. Isolation has been kicking my ass and work is getting busy.
> 
> So, yes, smut happened. I’ve never written smut before and didn’t want to hold up the next update even longer while I waffled over whether I wanted to give it a shot, so we’re literally sticking with the “fade to black” style for now. Miiiiiight eventually post as an interlude chapter here and link if I convince myself I can write something readable. Thoughts?
> 
> On an unrelated note, I bumped the rating to M to be safe. If nothing else, I feel like the conversations up to this point warrant the bump. If I do decide to include non-FTB scenes, I’ll go ahead and bump to E instead.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

Hawke woke to a nearly pitch black room, a crack of light at the door, and a pair of intently murmuring voices. She frowned and ran a hand over the covers beside her. She was alone, but the bed was still warm.   
  
She yawned and raked her fingers through her tousled hair as she sat up, barely remembering to hold the blanket over her bare chest.

”Anders...?”

The whispering stopped and a barely visible silhouette turned toward her. “I’m here, love.”

Satisfied, Hawke rolled back over and closed her eyes against the intrusive light from the doorway. Her half-awake mind assured her she could always chase after him naked if she heard him leave. She nearly fell asleep again before she felt Anders’ weight sink to the mattress beside her. 

“Hm...” She rolled to her side and shuffled until her back rested against his chest. His arm circled her waist and she took it as an invitation to burrow against him. “Who’s that...?”

A soft kiss pressed against the nape of her neck. “Just the Commander. You can go back to sleep.”

”Mhm. Hope you put on pants.”

He snorted loud enough to make her jump. “I..._what?_”

She frowned and stretched, blinking blearily at him over her shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“Does a blanket count?”

“Mhm.” Hawke yawned and turned in his arms, “Count for what?”

He chuckled, “Sweetheart, how awake are you right now?”

”’m awake,” she mumbled, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

”Go to sleep, love.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. ”Don’t get up again.”

His hands settled into the curve of her spine, pulling her close before kissing the top of her head. ”I promise.”

* * *

Though the Commander’s bed had plenty of space to spread out, morning found them using the bare minimum.

Hawke woke with Anders curled completely around her back, one arm stretched under their heads, one hand splayed over her stomach, and their legs loosely tangled.

It reminded her of their first morning together. A different bed, different circumstances, but the previous night felt like a new promise. Lowering a barrier. Allowing him close again.

”Morning, love.”

It seemed this time, he’d woken first. She smiled and stretched luxuriously, staying within the warm confines of his embrace. “Morning.”

His beard chafed the back of her neck as he nuzzled closer. “I take it you slept well.”

“Hm...” she agreed, rolling her head lazily to grant him better access, “Helps having a real bed.”

“Ah, I knew this would spoil you. Won’t be able to find a cave good enough for us after this.”

”Mm, yes. Sleeping in the dirt and being woken by bug bites. Surely anything more is the very lap of luxury.”

He hummed against her shoulder. “It’s a slippery slope. Next thing I know, you’ll develop a taste for cooked meals again.”

”The horror.” She rolled her eyes, but a smile curved her lips as he traced a lingering kiss along her pulse. “How long do you suppose we have before someone needs us?”  
  
She felt his smirk against her skin as he answered, “Absolutely no idea. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I was thinking of hunting down some playing cards to kill time. Obviously.” She shot an innocent look over her shoulder, mouth twitching with a suppressed grin. “Why? What did _you_ think I meant?”  
  
Hawke dissolved into peals of laughter as Anders growled impatiently and rolled her to her back, hovering above her on hands and knees. She lightly clutched his shoulders and smirked,

”Was it something I said?”

He laughed, a wonderfully carefree sound, and leaned down on his forearms to kiss her. She expected needy desperation, but the kiss was surprisingly slow and endlessly sweet. Savoring the moment as if they had all the time in the world.

Still, she needed more. She trailed her calf up the back of his leg and hooked it loosely over his hip. He broke the kiss with a teasing smile.

”Impatient, are you?”

Hawke laughed and used her new leverage to tug him closer. “I’m only making up for lost time.”

He shivered and sank his fingertips into her hip, ”I like the way you think.”

His mouth crashed urgently back into hers, driving everything from her mind but him. The searing heat of his kiss, the teasing strokes of their hips as she ground up against him, the pounding of his heart against her chest...

A perfunctory knock at the door.

They both froze until the visitor spoke, “Food’s outside the door.” The Commander again. A metallic scrape on the stone floor punctuated the statement. “Eat and get decent. I’ll return in an hour.”  
  
Anders’ forehead dropped against Hawke’s chest with an irritated grunt. She sputtered a laugh and dragged her fingers through his hair, “Maker’s balls, what did you do to piss her off _this_ time?”

”Mmph.” He kissed her collarbone before reluctantly sliding out of the covers. Hawke took a moment to shamelessly ogle his ass, sighed, and finally reached for the thus far unworn clothes she’d been provided. Greeting royalty naked was likely frowned upon.

* * *

Despite the looming meeting with the Commander, they took their breakfast in bed. More forgiving on sore joints than stone floors, and even sitting in separate chairs seemed too much distance after the night they’d shared. Reclining against the headboard with their heads lazily steepled together wasn’t the easiest way to eat, but neither cared.

Hawke cleared her bowl in minutes, leaning more heavily into Anders and settling a hand contentedly on her stomach. “I could get used to spices in food again,” she quipped, closing her eyes, “Not particularly Fereldan of me.”

”I doubt you have to surrender your nationality over a few gratings of ginger in your oatmeal.”

”Whoever added that has my eternal gratitude.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Commander fixed everything herself,” he mused, “Try to keep too many people from realizing we’re here.”

“Because no one is going to notice that she hasn’t been in her room since she returned. Right.” That would certainly make matters simpler, but she wasn’t about to count on it. She frowned. “Speaking of, what _were_ you and Her Majesty discussing last night?”

The silence and stiffened shoulder that followed her question were _not_ encouraging.

Anders cleared his throat. ”I was...hoping you wouldn’t remember that.”

Hawke’s expression froze as she pulled away to look him in the eyes. ”You had better explain.”

The dark circles under his eyes seemed deeper for a moment. “I can’t.”   
  
She bristled. “I swear to the _Maker_, Anders...” She jerked her hand away from him when he reached for it, her glare unwavering.

“It’s Warden business,” he explained weakly, “She—“

”She what? Ordered you to keep it secret?” The sting pricking the backs of her eyes needled her. Anger certainly had a direct line to her tear ducts lately. Her teeth clicked as she clenched her jaw, “She realizes you’ve told me more than you’re allowed already. She’s not stupid.”

”I—“

“And ‘I can’t explain, but just go along with it’ has worked _so_ well for us in the past.”

“This is...different.”

“How?”

“It’s personal to her. I swear she’ll explain when the time comes, but...” He reached for her again. This time, she let him take her trembling hands. “I’m sorry. I should have known how that would sound.”

Her mouth twisted. ”My leaping to conclusions isn’t helpful either.” Even if they were perfectly..._justifiable_ conclusions based on past experience. 

Hawke sighed and toppled back to the mattress, tugging Anders with her so she could still see his face. Some part of her still expected to see it blank, carefully devoid of expression. The burning guilt she saw instead was no massive improvement, but better than nothing at all.

Perhaps Justice was sitting this one out. Odd, since he would have known the Commander just as well as Anders had.

She took another moment to calm down before breaking the uneasy silence, “All right. Personal Warden secret. Do you trust her?”

Anders laughed weakly, “We don’t have much choice, do we?”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s not an answer either. I—“ They were interrupted _again_ by knocking at the door. Hawke freed one of her hands to grind the knuckles into her temple. “Just...remember your promise.”

”I’m not going anywhere.”

”You had better not.” She squeezed his hand and kissed him, only breaking away when the knocking returned, more insistent.

”You realize knocking to enter _my own quarters_ is a courtesy,” the Commander’s voice said dryly, “I’m coming in.”

She had changed out of the dark armor she had worn to greet them and into standard light Warden regalia. She balanced a few scrolls under one arm, her ever-present flask beneath the other. She lowered her hood with a practiced toss of her head and shut the door. The Commander’s mouth was already twisted in a grimace. That was a _truly_ encouraging sign for how the morning might progress.

“Now that you’ve caught your breath,” she said, spreading the scrolls on the desk, “We need to plan what comes next.”

She ignored Hawke and Anders flanking her at either corner of the fresh workspace, focusing instead on pinning her papers down with glass weights from the top desk drawer instead. The largest sheet was a meticulous map of Thedas that occupied nearly the entire desktop; the Commander had to cover most of Tevinter and Nevarra with the remaining items in order to show everything at once. Cramped, rushed handwriting filled the smaller sheets. Hawke only clearly recognized a few numbers and dates, the rest too incomprehensibly chaotic to make out. 

The Commander scowled, tracing a line down the map with a slender finger. "Or rather, _I_ need to plan. You would never have come here if you had better ideas." At Anders' wince, the Commander lifted her gaze from the desk and scoffed, "Don't give me that look. I didn't even warrant a note you weren't dead. I hardly find that to be an indicator of friendship."

"Look," Hawke interjected, "Not that we don't appreciate what you're doing, but...perhaps we should focus on the task at hand?" 

The other woman actually chuckled. "Right to the point then. Very well. I'm traveling to Weisshaupt. Tomorrow. I will need an escort." She turned to Anders. "Did you have a chance to discuss the options I gave you?"

"Seeing as we hardly had the chance to get out of _bed_ before you came back--"

"_What_ options?" Hawke interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the Commander, "This doesn't happen to be the _top secret Warden business_ I'm not allowed to know of, does it?"

"You followed an order?" The Commander raised her flask to Anders and took a short sip, "Now _there's_ a pleasant surprise. No. This part has nothing to do with the Wardens." She waved Hawke off impatiently before she could speak again. "It's a long journey, even if we're able to ride the entire way. With the route I have mapped, assuming nothing major goes awry, I have the entirety clocked at two months. That exacts a physical toll on anyone, let alone someone expecting--"

"No." Hawke saw where this was going. "I'm not staying behind. Where he goes, I go."

A flash of raw frustration passed over the Commander’s face, "You would _truly risk_\--" She smoothed her expression, "Fine. The offer stands through tomorrow. I could set you up in Amaranthine. Have someone send for you when it's safer."

"My answer won't change." 

"Of course it won't."

Hawke narrowed her eyes across the desk at Anders, "I take it you knew about this already?"

"I would have told you if we had more time,” he said defensively, “And I _did _tell her what your answer would be."

That he wasn't trying to convince her to leave him for her own safety _again_ was encouraging, at least. "All right," she conceded, "But next time there's a midnight meeting, I'm joining it."

"If you two are done," the Commander broke in, rolling her eyes, "This is the route. South down the Pilgrim's Path, bypass Denerim to travel directly across the Bannorn instead." The Commander's mouth twisted, just noticeably, before moving on, "The terrain is easy enough to traverse on horseback, so we can largely avoid the West Road to mitigate the risk of undue attention. It will be harder to avoid farms passing through the Hinterlands, so we spend as little time there as possible. Staying undetected will be much easier once we near the Frostbacks."

Her nail dug slightly into the inked peaks of the mountain range. "This is where it becomes more difficult. I crossed the length of Ferelden a dozen times during the Blight, but we never left the country. We need to depend entirely on Warden maps from then on. Reliable, but not infallible. If we don't find a pass, we may have to follow the mountains north to Orzammar. Either way, we use the Dales to cross the first half of Orlais. If we're careful, we should be able to follow the rivers from Lake Celestine to avoid major cities again. Stay near water as long as we can. Hopefully until we reach Nevarra."

"The final push north is the worst," she continued, "Water grows increasingly scarce the further we push into the Anderfels, and there is still a steady darkspawn presence. Particularly near Weisshaupt. The only promise I can make is knowing when they come." She swept the paperweights back into the drawer and rolled the map with a flick of her wrist. "So. Two months' travel, assuming we are able to ride the entire way, don't run out of food or water, aren't overwhelmed by darkspawn or discovered by the Chantry. _If_ we make it that far, you get to settle in the middle of nowhere and try to eke out a living on your own." She focused a challenging gaze on Hawke, mouth drawn in a grim line,

“I take it none of that changes your decision?”

Hawke leaned back from the desk and crossed her arms. "Sounds like you already know the answer. Of course I'm coming. I haven't come this far to throw everything away over what _might_ happen."

“You have a unique definition of ‘everything.’”

Hawke chose to ignore that. "And what, exactly, is so time-sensitive that we can't _both_ wait in Amaranthine? I wasn't under the impression the Warden-Commander was the designated errand runner for Ferelden's Wardens. Let alone the Queen."

The ever-present ice in the other woman's tone chilled several degrees, "I'm not in command. I recommended Nathaniel. There should be little resistance this time. He has more than earned his place by now." She pushed back from the desk and scoffed, "And if I truly need to explain why it's a poor plan to live a life as fugitives in _your own home country_, I don't hold much hope for how long you'll last."

That they were interrupted by yet another knock on the door was likely for the best. 

As the Commander, _former_ Commander, went to answer the messenger, Hawke shifted closer to Anders and slipped her hand into his. His returned squeeze was an immediate relief. They were out of sight, on the opposite side of the room from the cracked door, but speaking would give them away. Better reassurance would have to wait.

The door closed, and the Commander turned toward them with a small note in hand.

”Change of plans,” she said crisply, “You two are leaving now. Before your friend pays a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8: Return of the Plot. Do you have any idea how long I spent staring at maps and calculating pseudo-believable travel times for this itinerary? Which...who am I kidding? That is the kind of crap I _eat up_. Got a full timeline on my phone with varying travel paces, landmarks, and everything else I could think of. 
> 
> Half thinking of putting the beginning conversation with Anders and Elissa as its own one shot (under her series rather than this one). I actually did write a pared-down version of it so I could keep track of what I wanted them to discuss...just needs to be expanded and cleaned up.


	9. Evasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There is some _very_ negative self talk here regarding parenthood. 
> 
> As always, please reach out if you want more detail on warnings before reading.

Depending on how literally the Commander meant the word, there were dozens of possibilities. Hawke scowled.

“What _friend?_”

”Sebastian Vael. Apparently took him less time to reclaim the Starkhaven throne than we anticipated.”

“Must you sound _impressed_ with that?”

The Commander ignored her, eyes darting to the drawn curtains. “It's the fourth Monday of the month. There will be a supply wagon traveling the Pilgrim’s Path. I can direct them to make a stop before reaching Denerim; there’s a decent patch of embrium several miles south. Should give you an opportunity to sneak off.” She spared a glance back toward Hawke, “I don’t suppose you have any experience with a crossbow?”

”Not...directly.” As if Varric would let anyone else touch Bianca. “I know how one works though. Why?”

”If an archer finds you on open ground, you won’t have much opportunity to swing a greatsword.” She grimaced, “And it will be easier to use in the longer term. I’ll have a chance to show you the trigger mechanism before you leave. Briefly.” She turned, staring at the cleared desk and darting her eyes over the surface as if the map still occupied it, "Vael won't stay long. I should be able to leave within the week without undue attention. Catch up.”

Anders scoffed. “Last I checked, Warden stamina doesn’t allow you to triple your walking speed.”

"Of course not,” the Commander said, waving a hand dismissively, “I'll ride. That should put me outside Lothering near the time you approach there." Her brows rose again, "I hope I don't have to warn you not to go _into_ town? Seven years is nothing when the person you grew up with becomes infamous."

If the Commander was genuinely trying to give advice, Hawke was rapidly reconsidering the other woman’s diplomatic reputation. If she was needling her on purpose, Hawke would pay good coin to discover how, exactly, she had pissed Her Royal Majesty off so thoroughly. She rolled her eyes,

"I'm not going to be crashing my old neighbors' tea parties if that's what you're implying."

“Good to know.” The Commander glanced around the room, nodding once to herself, “I’ll return with Warden-issue cloaks so you two can walk down to the courtyard inconspicuously. I suggest you pack whatever you’re not leaving behind in the meantime.”

Civil or not, Hawke knew the Commander was doing the best she could to keep her and Anders in one piece. And at great personal risk. She swallowed her annoyance and nodded.

”All right,” Hawke said, “Be careful.”

The Commander cracked a wicked smile. “Pulling the strings of nobility is something of a hobby of mine.” She laughed dryly, “I charmed an entire nation into following my will. Your princeling doesn’t frighten me.”

Hawke sighed irritably the moment the door swept shut with the Commander’s exit. “I suppose a warning is better than nothing.”

”I wish we could stay.” Anders’ gaze wandered wistfully around the room, “You only had one night before—”

”_We,_” she corrected sharply, “Don’t you dare start that bullshit again. This is about both of us.”

Of course Anders wouldn’t leave it at that; he was looking at her with his obnoxiously reasonable face on.

”All I’m saying is—“

”_No._”

”—that I would understand.”

“You think that’s what I want?” she snapped, laughing incredulously, “Hiding in a strange city raising our child by myself? Not knowing where you are, or if you’re alive?”

“I did promise not to take away your choice to leave.”

She rolled her eyes and flicked a hand irritably. “Comforting. So now you’ll only try to _convince_ me I’m wrong for staying with you. What a massive improvement.”

”Marian...”

”That was _definitely_ what I intended, too. I always _so_ enjoyed it when you told me I was a fool for loving you. Isn’t this nostalgic?” 

Anders opened his mouth to respond, but Hawke glared at the closed door and shook her head. “This is stupid. We can fight when we’re not in the same arling as vengeful _old friends_.”

Maker, _of course_ it would be Sebastian. Now she had the possibility of igniting a conflict between two heads of state on top of everything else. Sparking a war, if Sebastian was particularly hotheaded.

Anders tugged on her hand, and she let him pull her into his arms. He sighed. ”I don’t want to fight, love.”

”Then _trust me_.” Hawke glared at the stone wall, “Have I ever given you reason not to?” She barely managed to keep the bitterness from her voice; exasperation was the best she could do.

“I know.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. The regret she saw there _burned_. “I don’t want you to give up anything else,” he continued, “Not for me.”

“You’re here. The cub’s not.” Guilt pooled in her gut, but she strangled it before it could take form, “Not yet. I’m not giving you up and I am _not_ raising our child alone. If something goes wrong, it would go wrong either way.” She sighed, “Besides, I meant what I said. I trust _you_. Who else would do a better job keeping us in one piece?”

His lip twitched in a mockery of a smile, “Most of the time.”

Just because that was true didn’t mean she would let the comment pass. She rolled her eyes. “Could you ease up on the self-flagellation until we get back on the road, at least?” She leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Please?”

He didn’t respond. Anders knew better than to commit to something he couldn’t do. Or wouldn’t. It was hard to tell the difference most times.

* * *

The Commander wasted no time sending them on their way. Less than an hour passed between receiving the message and cramming them into a supply wagon between crates of elfroot and rashvine, slouched low enough that they couldn’t be seen if the drivers casually glanced behind them.  
  
Once again, they couldn’t speak; the merchants who smuggled them had no idea they were there. Neither merchant was particularly threatening, but if either of them checked the back and made the connection between the stowaways they harbored and the wanted posters...

Hawke’s jaw clenched. Was it too much to ask that they didn’t shed _further_ innocent blood?

Below her pounding heart, her stomach fluttered again. Perhaps that had been happening a while without her noticing, or the beginning had coincided with them being more consistently on the move. She distantly remembered her mother laughing about that when she carried the twins.

_The moment I sit down, you decide it’s time to start dancing together, do you? You two won’t let your poor mother rest for a second, hm?_

Hawke had been practically a baby herself then, months from her fourth nameday, but she couldn’t remember another time her mother was so happy. Before word of her grandparents’ deaths arrived, before Bethany’s magic manifested, before her father grew ill. 

Before her father died, before Carver died, before Kirkwall.

Hawke swallowed thickly. Her mother’s world had been her children, even if she didn’t always know how best to show it. And here Hawke was, forgetting her own child-to-be’s existence at the first sign of trouble until a near-stranger pointedly, and repeatedly, reminded her.

Maker, what did it say about her that she was a poor mother before her child was even born? Refusing the offer of a safe place for them both, because it meant leaving Anders?

That was typical of her, wasn’t it? Choosing which family and friends to prioritize and leaving the rest behind? Why would she expect motherhood to change anything?

She had been so relieved to feel movement last night. Talking to her future child as a mother _should_...and then immediately reverting to pessimism the moment it suited her. Acting as if there wasn’t a chance of actually holding them. Acting as if carrying them at all was an inconvenience she couldn’t afford.

Maker, that was the furthest thing from the truth. She wanted this child so much it terrified her. But what did it matter when her actions spoke louder than her words?

Perhaps having a child would make her worse. What if she made her child feel like they had to _earn_ her affection? That she would withdraw it at the first sign of argument from them? That they would need to seek any scrap of approval like a starved puppy?

But, of course, that was only if she could bother keeping them safe long enough to actually _be born_. 

But then...there _wasn’t_ a safe place for them, was there? Hawke was just as prominent a target as Anders at this point; the bounties on the wanted posters proved as much. How would staying long term in _Amaranthine, _practically stone skipping distance from Kirkwall, be an improvement?

Not to mention, with the way the Commander spoke, she had the distinct feeling she would be just as opposed to Hawke traveling with a newborn as Hawke traveling while pregnant. 

She wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if that overlapped with the Warden business she _still_ knew nothing of. As adamant as the other woman had been, Hawke couldn’t shake the suspicion the Commander had wanted Anders alone. That Hawke was an unwelcome surprise when she found them.  
  
Because after remaining at his side through the destruction of the Chantry and months of being hunted, she would be convinced to let him go now. Sure.

Perhaps Her Majesty had a bit too much faith in her spies if she believed _that_ would ever work.   
  
_Maker_, she was exhausted. Why in the world had she believed seeking refuge with the fucking Hero of Ferelden would make their lives _less_ difficult?

* * *

It was evening when the cart stopped. Hawke and Anders waited until the merchants’ voices faded, tending to the horses and stretching their legs rather than sitting on the driver’s bench. Once they were reasonably sure the pair wouldn’t hear them, they climbed quietly out the back. They made it to the cover of the tree line, hand in hand, without further trouble, but neither dared so much as _breathe_ heavily until the cart was on its way south again.

Still, they waited, watching until they couldn’t see so much as the dust from their unknowing smugglers in the distance. Hawke frowned at the dipping sun, cracking her stiff neck,

”I don’t suppose we could make much progress tonight yet.”

”Perhaps not. Best at least get some distance between us and the road, though. We’ll want a fire for tonight. The wolves in this area are not something I want to meet again.”

”Fair enough.” They were further east than Hawke had traveled when she lived in Ferelden. Anders, at least, had spent time in Denerim after one of his escapes, and they weren’t so far from the Vigil that they were outside the Wardens’ range of influence. 

Thankfully, the Warden cloaks were plain enough, simple dark-dyed cotton, that they looked like any other traveler to the untrained eye. As long as they stayed far enough away from anyone else, avoided the main roads, they weren’t in great danger of being recognized.

Disguising themselves fully as Wardens would have been safer, aside from patrols leaving the keep, but she would show too much to hide before they reached Weisshaupt. Her stomach was already unmistakable when the cloak billowed and revealed her borrowed tunic.

Anders sighed a few miles into their hike, the way he always did when he planned to say something unpleasant, and Hawke braced herself.

”About what you said in the keep...” he started.

Lovely. _More_ fighting. She supposed she should be used to it by now, but it stung more sharply than usual after they had _just_ regained some semblance of their usual closeness.

”I _don’t_ want to hear it.”

“You know I may not be here to help you with this child.”

”If the Chantry catches one of us, they’ll catch both of us.”

”That’s not what I mean.”

”I’m not playing guessing games. And what part of ‘I don’t want to hear it’ was the least bit unclear?” She picked up her pace, jabbing Anders’ staff into the dirt more forcefully than necessary with every step. He kept pace, still unnervingly calm in a way that made her skin itch.

”My Calling. That’s not something we can change.”

”You said you had thirty years.” She winced, correcting herself, “Closer to twenty now. We’ll make them count.”

”It may not be that...exact.”

”So, what? Don’t bother living the years you have left because you don’t know when they’ll end?”

”I didn’t—”

”Do you _really think_ I haven’t thought about it?” That phantom hourglass had been hanging over her head for three years. The one eventuality she could do nothing to protect him from. "Wait. 'Not that exact.' What did you mean by that?"

"Thirty years is more...typical. But there are exceptions."

"What has you thinking about 'exceptions' so readily? I..." The pieces abruptly fell into place in Hawke's mind, and she felt the blood drain from her face. "No. Not now. Not _already_." She gripped his hand and pulled them both to a sudden stop. "Tell me you're not going to your Calling."

"What? No! Of course not!"

"You haven't been eating. Or sleeping well."

The bastard had the audacity to crack a smile. "That sounds entirely unlike me,” he teased weakly, “You’re right."

"Don't." She shook her head. "Don't..._joke_ about this. It’s been getting worse. You’re _feeling_ worse. I’m not stupid. I’m...” Her words trailed into a frustrated growl before she could continue, “Was that what you were talking to her about? The Commander?"

"Love, I _promise_ that isn't what Elissa told me."

Would he tell her if the opposite were true? Or would he lie to _protect_ her again? She had to believe he knew better.

If not...she refused to think about that. 

Her body was still drawn painfully tight from the scenario she’d conjured, but Hawke managed a stiff nod. “All right,” she said tersely, turning back to their path without releasing his hand. “We should keep moving.”

He wordlessly brought their joined hands to his lips before they set off again. The silence drifted between them as they walked, Hawke lost in her thoughts. With the immediacy of the bounties on their heads, she’d forgotten just how ever-present the threat of his Calling was. Or...no. Not forgotten. Deprioritized. A gruesome death in the Deep Roads was far in the future, potential capture and execution was immediate. 

”Promise you’ll tell me,” she said abruptly, staring at the horizon ahead, “When it _is_ time for your...” She didn’t want to say it again. The word was poison.

”I will.” His agreement was far too ready for her to believe him. He had a caveat ready, as usual.

”Not in a note either. I want to know as soon as you do.” She took a long breath, squeezing his hand harder, “I at least want the chance to say goodbye. Please.”

He released her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders instead. He held her for a moment, slowing to an awkward shamble so they could walk so entangled, before he finally nodded, voice rough as he agreed,

”I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh I really want to write the Elissa/Sebastian meeting, but I feel like that belongs in a separate place instead of butting into this story. She’s been Queen for six years and trained alongside both an Orlesian bard and an Antivan Crow. She would eat the poor dude _alive_.
> 
> Also...I don’t envy anyone in this universe who loves a Warden and isn’t one themselves. 
> 
> As a side note, I have my rescheduled test coming up next week (14th/15th), so won’t be posting much until that’s over with. Cannot *wait* until I’m done with that and have a whole two month break from studying. Ha.


	10. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait on this one! Work has been extraordinarily busy, and I’ve been having a hard time finding the energy to write at the end of the day. Rest assured I’m not abandoning this, I’m just slow as molasses!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s reading! Watching the view count has been a huge motivator to get my butt in gear updating!
> 
> Oh, and happy one year anniversary to this fic, apparently! :)

Despite her fears, traveling through Ferelden soothed Hawke. Endless rolling hills and plains, no craggy mountains or salted ocean air...if her thoughts ran light, it took her back to traveling with her parents and siblings twenty years ago. Back when she was young enough to think running was an adventure she was lucky to be part of. Back when her parents made games of spotting shiny objects in the distance rather than let on they were watching for templars.

Ferelden felt like home, even after seven years. 

Not that it mattered. If all went to plan, they would pass into Orlais in a matter of weeks. Perhaps they would never return.

Staying now was childish fantasy, of course. But that reality did nothing to temper the bittersweet memories.

She swore she recognized something every few miles. This may have been the stream where she’d taught the twins to swim. That may have been the boulder she’d stood upon to keep watch when she couldn’t sleep in the family tent. Perhaps this was the stump she and Carver had hacked to bits with blunt axes, building their strength for proper swords. She brushed her fingers over the decaying wood as they passed, wondering if she would even feel the jagged initials they’d chipped into the tree afterwards.

She frowned absentmindedly. No, that couldn't be right. She and Carver hadn't started training like that until after Bethany's magic appeared. That stump would have been a few miles outside Lothering. Probably blighted and rotted away by now.

Anders’ hand snuck into hers and squeezed gently. She kept hold, lacing their fingers together as they walked.

”It’s strange being here again,” she admitted, “Pretty sure we covered the entire length of Ferelden at one point or another. Nearly." She laughed, one corner of her mouth quirking up, "Father treated it like one long camping trip until we settled in Lothering.”

“He didn’t want you to be afraid until you were old enough to understand.”

“Mhm.” Maybe she should have paid better attention to those games and distractions. How had her father managed to keep her unafraid so long? Could she do the same if...

No. This would be different. Templars would expend a thousand times more effort trying to find _them_ than a single runaway apostate. They would never have so much as the illusion of peace.

She sighed and pressed his hand again. “It feels wrong being here without them.” Morbidly, she reminded herself Father and Carver _were_ there. Father's ashes were buried behind their old farmhouse outside Lothering. Carver...

She tried not to think of some demon reanimating his body after they'd left him. She should have had the presence of mind to ask Flemeth one more favor. The old witch could turn into a _dragon_, after all. It would have been no trouble at all to cremate both Wesley and Carver. 

Hindsight, once again. Had she ever gotten anything right the first time round?

She had done an exemplary job protecting her family, really. One dead and buried, one dead and possibly wandering Ferelden as an undead corpse, one dead and abandoned in an urn in her Kirkwall estate, and the last left to fend for herself as a fugitive mage with the world's briefest goodbye note. All in less than ten years. That had to be some kind of record.

Hawke grimaced and laughed weakly. “Beth is going to kill me.”

”I very much doubt that, love.” Gentle humor filled his voice, but she shook her head.

”You didn’t see how she looked at me when...” Hawke didn’t remember much coherently from the hours after the chantry went up, but that single moment, the disappointment, anger, pity, and _fear_ on her sister’s face, stood in her mind clear as crystal.

Anders said nothing. When Hawke turned her head to face him, he frowned in obvious confusion.

Did he not remember? Had Justice been so fully in control that last day in Kirkwall? The ache in her chest bloomed; she should have known better. Hawke shrugged and faced forward again. “Never mind.” Her voice was tight as a strung bow. “It’s not as if talking about it changes anything.”

”We have nothing but time.” 

“It’s not worth dredging up.” 

“It’s clearly worth enough to hurt you.” 

“Maybe I _des_—“ She bit the tip of her tongue.

He sighed. "Please, love. Let me--"

“_No_,” she snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.” That much was true, but perhaps it was more accurate to say she was tired of talking about Kirkwall. It only brought tears, heartache, and more arguing. 

Anders quieted, relaxing his hand in hers as if to pull away, but she laced her fingers more firmly with his. 

“_This_ helps,” she told him softly.

His thumb brushed gently over her knuckle, and he stopped trying to release her. A few moments passed, heavy with his uncertainty, before he spoke again, ”You can tell me anything.”

_Anything? Be careful what you offer. _A shadow of a smile passed over Hawke’s face. She leaned up to kiss his cheek awkwardly as they walked. “I know.”

”Even if you don’t believe you should.”

The impulse to bring up the Warden secret he still kept rose in her noxiously, but she ignored it. “Later,” she said, “When things are...more settled.”

If they ever were.

* * *

The rain began on their third day out of the Vigil, mostly idle drizzle, but occasionally sheeting and relentless. When the rain was light enough, they could walk with their hoods down. It was a far cry from fancy dwarven bathtubs, but at least took the edge off the rapidly festering road grime that coated them both.

“Forgot how wet Fereldan summers were,” Anders mused, dragging his fingers through his damp hair.  
  
Hawke shrugged. “Good for the crops, not so great for the roads.” Hadn’t been much of a problem growing up, since they never traveled far during the day. Hard to cover much distance with a gaggle of small children insisting on jumping in every filthy puddle they encountered. Mother had learned early on to never dress them in light colors.

Her hand absentmindedly brushed a short bush near their path, and her thoughts took a sharp right turn.

“Ooh! Blackberries!" she exclaimed, "They almost never had these in Kirkwall.”

“They did. You never wanted them.”

Her stomach snarled, and she swore she felt the tiniest kick. “Well, the cub thinks it’s a good idea. Who am I to argue?”

Anders shook his head affectionately. “Little tyrant.”

”I’ll be less indulgent of a parent later, I swear.”

”I think you’re indulging _yourself_ at the moment, love.”

”What can I say, we share a common cause,” she said breezily, “Now help me grab some of these. Easy enough dinner if we can’t find anything else.”

A thunderclap punctuated her sentence and she rolled her eyes. “All right, we _won’t_ find anything else. Let’s find somewhere to hunker down for the night. Sun wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway.”

Thankfully, they found a cave a half mile further west. Not ideal, especially given they couldn’t see where the cavern ended, but dry enough. Even exhausted as they were, Anders warded both the entrance and the dark tunnel behind it, just in case. He frowned.

“We’ll have to keep watch.”

”Don’t we always?” Hawke spread her cloak on a clean bit of rock, plucking a few clearly questionable berries from their haul and setting them aside.

“This close to Lothering, there might still be darkspawn activity closer to the surface.”

”Fantastic.” She carried the cloak over to him and leaned lightly against his shoulder. “But you’ll know before they get too close. Eat something, would you? It’s going to be a long night.”

He didn’t fight her on that for once. It worried her more than his skipped meals. She forced down a few bites, giving him time to say something. When the answer to her unasked question wasn’t forthcoming, she gently nudged him.

”You’re awfully quiet,” she said, resting a hand on his knee. “Care to share?”

He sighed and tilted his head to rest on hers. “Am I in trouble if I say no?”

It took every ounce of willpower she had not to freeze. Her voice stayed determinedly light, “That depends.”

”I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured quickly, laying a hand over hers, "All right?"

But was he planning something without her? Hurting himself? Watching his regrets and doubts spiral until he decided, once again, that he wasn’t worthy of being in her life?

Hawke cleared her throat. 

“All right.” It sounded stiff even to her, but Maker knew she was trying. She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the faintly shimmering barrier behind them. “I can take the first watch. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” He shook his head before she could object. “But I should check on you while we have the chance.”

_”If _you try to sleep as soon as you’re done.”

He huffed a single, tired laugh. “I doubt I’ll be _able_ to sleep, you know.”

”Which is why I said ‘try.’” Insufferable stubborn man. Hawke slapped a hand on her thigh and raised an eyebrow. “I can play lookout and a pretty serviceable pillow.”  
  
“Is that so?”

”And I’ll keep stalling and pestering you about it until you take care of yourself.”

That earned her a small laugh, which she chose to interpret as reluctant surrender. She'd take his resignation if it meant he'd run himself marginally less ragged. 

Hawke unceremoniously pulled her tunic over her head, leaving her in her breast band. The two of them had this down to a science by now. Shirt off, scoot between his legs. Lung check, Blight check, run-of-the-mill pregnancy check. 

"Shouldn't that have healed by now?' she asked as Anders' hands drifted below her right shoulder blade, "It's been...what? A couple months?"

"Nine weeks. Give or take." She felt his hand chill as it ran over the scar. "That would have been enough time to heal _if_ you’d had enough time to rest. Since we haven't stopped moving for nearly two months..." He trailed off into silence, tracing a delicate pattern just below the mark.

“You know me.” Hawke said with a pointed shrug, “I'm tougher than I look." She flashed him an encouraging smile over her shoulder, "And I _look_ pretty damned terrifying."

The worry line between his brows didn't fade, but he granted her a faint smile and light kiss. When she faced front again, he drew his attention to her other shoulder and sighed, tracing the thick scar there. The wound was long healed, though she still felt its tug when she swung a particularly heavy blow. Nothing he could do about it now. When his touch lingered, Hawke leaned against his chest to trap his hand. 

She cleared her throat. “How’s the cub?”

”I..." He freed his arm and brushed a lock of errant hair out of her eyes. "...right." 

His palms cradled her stomach, emitting a comforting blue glow again. Hawke smiled.

”They’re squirming like crazy.”

”More than usual?" Anders mused, "Probably because you just ate.”

”You don’t think they can feel you doing that?”

”I doubt it. Not at this stage.”

”Mother always said all those checkups Father did before I was born made him my favorite.”

”Are you worried? I doubt that—“

”Of course not.” She closed her eyes and rolled her head against his shoulder. “I’m only teasing, Anders.”

She shouldn't have been surprised he was fully immersed as a healer at the moment. Or perhaps still distracted by whatever was needling him earlier. 

She did her best to relax and not think about it. If she wanted to avoid certain subjects with him, she could hardly argue he wasn't allowed to do the same. No matter how it gnawed at her.

When his hands retreated moments later, Hawke leaned forward and shrugged her tunic back on. The moment she was fully clothed again, she balled up her cloak, rolled it against her thigh, and patted it pointedly. “Are we still doing okay?” she asked.

“So far,” he said, settling down on his back next to her. His eyes automatically eased shut when she began running her fingers through his hair. “You’re both healthy. No blight.”

Hawke frowned, resting her free hand against her stomach. The cub was still somersaulting; it was easier to tell now that she knew how it felt. “Wouldn’t that have caused problems by now? Not that I want to assume anything, but...” No, she _would_ be taking both of their health for granted if she finished that thought. Best to leave it lie.

Anders sighed and took her hand. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’d like to think that, but darkspawn are never that small. Not when we encounter them. I don’t know how easily I can sense it. We...” He frowned, watching the lazy circles she’d started rubbing on her belly. “We might not know until you give birth.”

”There’s a cheery thought.”

”I’m sorry.”

”It’s not your fault.” She rested their hands over his heart, concentrating on the faint vibration of his pulse through his shirt. “Neither of us knew it was a real possibility.” She laughed softly. “We’ll need to be more careful after this. I’ll have to start taking that damned tea again.” That monstrosity tasted charmingly like a pair of gardening shears left in the rain. Revolting.

Anders was quiet a moment before he nodded. “I can help with that.”

“Of course you can. I helped you make it in the clinic all the time.”

“That’s right. Isn’t that the one thing you managed _not_ to burn?”

“Rude.” She smiled and nudged him with her hip. “At least I made good company.”

“You still do.”

He sounded so serious, she couldn’t make light of it. She bent over to kiss him, the tips of her hair tickling his forehead and cheek.

”And I always will,” she promised. “But didn’t you tell me you would try to sleep?”

* * *

Despite his protests, it didn’t take Anders long to drift to sleep at her side. Hawke stole occasional glances at him during her watch. Much more relaxed than he was awake, if still tense. He never slept well. Stress was the primary culprit, but Justice also occasionally took control while he slept. If he wasn't in bed with her in Kirkwall, she could usually find him in the study, ice blue veins and eyes illuminating the room as he wrote purposefully. If he remembered any of it, he never told her.

If it wasn’t that, it was nightmares. Both mundane and Warden-driven.

The Warden nightmares had scared the _shit_ out of her when he first had them in the estate. He would toss and turn and grumble during normal nights, but frequently woke with strangled screams if the taint was to blame.

She kept hold of his hand as he slept, just in case. It wasn’t much, but the touch helped orient him if he woke suddenly. He was safe. He wasn’t alone. 

A sharp electric buzz. The barrier flickered. Hawke tensed. She felt Anders do the same, slowly sitting up beside her.

”See?” An older man outside the cave, from the sound of it. “What did I tell you? Some mage is in there. Saw them go in when the storm picked up.”

”Them?” A second voice. Deeper and younger. “How many?”

”Just the two, ser. Couldn’t see them too well, but I think one of them had a staff.”

”Are you sure?”

”Well, ser, with all due respect, I don’t see a blighted _arrow_ putting something like _that_ up, do you?”

“You...have a point. Stand back.”

The instruction wasn’t meant for Hawke, but she waved her hand frantically anyway. If they moved back far enough...

Anders grunted as his back bumped the barrier at the rear of the cave. Pale lines curled under and around the front entrance, dissolving the magical protection like a vial of acid. The strange wisping smoke ebbed over them both, smelling faintly of lyrium.

Hawke’s eyes darted to the low ceiling above them, then the narrow passage they’d retreated from. Her greatsword would be worse than useless here; it would only slow her down.

She scrambled for the crossbow, smelling ozone behind her. Her heart didn’t know whether to rise or sink at the prospect of Justice, but she didn’t have time to consider. The templar entered the cave and spotted them immediately, training his bow on her.

Both she and him loosed their weapons simultaneously. 

Both missed.

Hawke’s bolt shattered against the wall behind the templar, a good arm’s length to his left. His came near enough to shift her hair in its wake, but bounced harmlessly off the remaining barrier.

Hawke fought to reload, still clumsy with the unfamiliar weapon, but was distracted by the faintest static arcing toward her target. The weakest lightning she’d ever seen Anders cast. Her stomach dropped. The templar’s cleanse must have reached him. 

She growled and stood as best she could, hunched nearly in half as she charged for their attacker. He managed to loose one more arrow as she came, the head grazing a slice out of her upper arm as it passed, but had nowhere to retreat when she cracked the crossbow under his jaw and tackled him fully to the dirt floor.

The tip of a blade prodded her chin. She turned her eyes to see the templar’s companions: three more archers, a pair of warriors, and the captain with her longsword at Hawke’s neck. The point of the weapon pressed more insistently, just enough to break the skin, as the older woman spoke,

“Let him go.”

_”No!”_

Anders’ shout behind her accompanied another weak burst of lightning. This one, at least, was enough to startle the captain into moving back a step.

It was the opening Hawke needed. She swung the crossbow in an arc, knocking the captain’s weapon from her hand, and scrambled backwards toward Anders. 

“Too many of them!” she bit out as she reached the barrier, reluctantly eyeing the darkness behind it, “We need to _go_.”

Anders nodded tightly, squinting his eyes shut with the effort of straining against the barrier. It shifted. Not enough.

Hawke tried to reload again, but couldn’t fit the bolt properly. Broken from hitting the templars.

”Come on, come _on_,” she muttered, drawing her dagger. The weapon would be useless once the other archers entered, but the still-prone body of their comrade delayed that inevitability. _“Anders!”_

A deafening sound like a clap of thunder, a strangled shout, and the blue light of Justice erupted, taking what remained of the barrier with it. 

She clamped her hand around his wrist, wincing at the residual shock that shot up her arm, and stumbled toward the new opening. Justice resisted; she snarled and pulled harder.

**"We must--"**

"Don't you fucking _dare_." 

She would drag him to the ends of the continent if she needed. They didn't have time to argue. 

Thankfully, this time, Justice agreed. 

A spirit bolt shot from the end of Anders' staff and crashed into the ceiling behind them. Before the templars could pursue, the path was impassibly clogged with stone. Anders sagged heavily against her, costing them the illumination Justice provided. Hawke wound her arm around his waist, waiting the barest moment for her eyes to adjust to the faint glow of deep mushrooms along the walls.

"Marian, I'm..."

"It's okay." She squeezed his hip gently and shuffled them a step forward, the tunnel declining gradually under her feet. Dark patches of corruption dotted the walls. She edged away from them. "We'll be okay."

"I'm sorry, I _tried..._"

"It's okay," she repeated, "Just...help me figure out where we're going."

Another step forward, another step further down. Again. And again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Into the Deep Rooooooads! Into the Deep RooooOOOoooads! Into the Deep ROOOOOOOOoooOOOOoooads!
> 
> Also operating on the logic that templar specialization abilities like Cleanse (DA2) and Spell Purge (DAI) are able to dispel hostile magic. So, even if in-game requires a mage to dispel barriers, I think a templar (or group of them) could do the same thing in-universe. I may or may not have mulled that one over for a few days to try and find a good explanation. Shh. It's classified.

**Author's Note:**

> Ongoing writing playlist:
> 
> “Coming Down” - Halsey  
“Safe & Sound” - Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars  
“Don’t Say a Word” - Carah Faye  
“Crestfallen” - The Smashing Pumpkins  
“The Story” - Brandi Carlile  
“Disaster Hearts” - I Fight Dragons


End file.
